i ^> % „ ..." 





/ 



I 



THE 



LIFE AND BEAUTIES 



OP 



FANNY FEEN. 



Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate, 
Nor set down aught in malice." 



flJljilabelpljia-: 
T. B. PETERSON, NO. 306 CHESTNUT STREET, 

GIRARD BUILINGS, ABOVE THIRD. 

9 



Iff? 



Interee according to Act of Congress, in the year One Thousand Eight 
Hundred and Fifty-five, by H. LONG & BROTHER, in tha Clerk's 
Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern Dis- 
trict of New York 



fawujfern form I til 



By Transfer 

D. C. Public Library 






WITH 



PEEFACE 



In preparing for the press " The Life and Beauties 
of Fanny Fern," we have given to the reader a state- 
ment of the most prominent incidents in her eventful 
career, which is authenticated, not only by the testi- 
mony of her nearest relatives, but by communications 
from her own lips. The lives of distinguished men 
or women have always been accounted public property, 
and, in narrating that of Fanny Fern, we have confined 
ourselves to simple facts, leaving the fancy-pictures to 
be filled up by others. 

In giving selections from her " Beauties," we present 
the reader with a bouquet of "Ferns," all freshly 
gathered. In so doing, we have infringed on no one's 
copy-right ; the sketches having been copied, in. every 
instance, from the papers to which they were originally 



IV PEEFACE. 

contriouted. A large proportion of them have never 
before appeared within the covers of a book. These 
latter are the very articles upon which Fanny made her 
reputation. We have given quotations which do justice 
to every variety of her versatile style. One page 
flashes with the keen edge of satire, another brims over 
with mirth, and a third is tearful with pathos. 

We have shown Fanny at home, on the street, and 
in church, and have thus furnished a key which will 
unlock many of the mysteries of " Ruth Hall," and 
" Fern Leaves." 



CONTENTS 



I. 

Genius in Pantalettes 11 

II. 
Fanny at School 13 

III. 
The New Name 18 

IV. 
The Husband's Death 20 

V. 
The Second Marriage 27 

VI. 
Fvnnt Fern at Home 31 

VII. 
Early Literary Efjorts 37 

VIII. 
Fanny and the True Flag 39 

IX. 
Fanny Fern in Church 48 

X. 
Fanny Fern in Broadway 52 

XI. 
Fanny at the Tremont House 55 

XII. 
A Key to "Ruth Hall." 60 



VI CONTENTS. 

XIII. 
A Word about N. P. Willis 69 

XIV. 
Ideas about Babies 72 

XV. 
Praise from a Woman 79 

XVI. 
The Remarkable History of Jemmy Jessamy „ 81 

XVII. 
Jemmy Jessamy's Defence _ 85 

XVIII. 
The Governess 88 

XIX. 
All about Satan 103 

XX. 
Well Known Characters 106 

XXI. 
Horace Mann's "Opinion." Ill 

XXII. 
What Fanny Thinks of Hot Weather 113 

XXIII. 
Family Jars 114 

XXIV. 
Two in Heaven 119 

XXV. 
The Private History of Didymus Daisy, Esq 121 

XXVI. 
The Wedding Dress 125 

XXVII. 
Is it Best to Use Envelopes? .„ „_ 132 



CONTENTS. Vll 

XXVIII. 
Feminine Wisdom 137 

XXIX. 
Always Speak the Truth 139 

XXX. 
Moses Miltiades Milton 142 

XXXI. 
Tom versus Fan ; or, a Little Talk about Little 

Things 145 

XXXII. 
A Letter to the True Flag 152 

XXXIII. 
The Orphan 154 

XXXIV. 
An Answer to Mrs. Crowe 160 

XXXV. 
Mrs. Farrington on Matrimony 162 

XXXVI. 
A Whisper to Romantic Young Ladies 164 

XXXVII. 
A Woman with a Soul 168 

XXXVIII. 
Clerical Courting 170 

XXXIX. 
What Fowler Says __ 175 

XL. 
The Other Side ... 179 

XLI. 
The Good-Natured Bachelor 18<J 



Viu CONTENTS. 

XLII. 
Catching the Dear. 18 R 

XLIII. 
Helen, the Village Rose-Bud 390 

XLIV. 
Single Blessedness 200 

XLV. 
That Mrs. Jones 201 

XLVI. 
Mrs. Jupiter's Soliloquy 204 

XLVII. 
The Unfaithful Lover... 206 

XLVIII. 

Petticoat Parliament 213 

XLIX. 

Fanny Fern on Widowers 215 

L. 
An Hour with Fanny's Father 217 

LI. 
John Bull's Opinion of "Ruth Hall." 222 

LII. 
Orthodox Testimony 225 

LIII. 
Another Fern 227 

LIV. 
The Best of Men have their Failings 229 

LV. 
The Mistake of a Life-time 231 

LVI. 
A. Wife's Devotion 238 



CONTENTS IX 

LVII. 
Mrs. Zebedee Smith's Philosophy 243 

LVIII. 
Interesting to Bashful Men 246 

LIX. 
The Angel Child 249 

LX. 
CJncle Ben's Attack of Spring-Fever 253 

LXI. 
Connubial Advertisement 258 

LXII. 
What Fanny Thinks about Sewing-Machines 260 

LXIII. 
The Time to Choose 263 

LXIV. 
Our Nelly 265 

LXV. 
I Can't ,._ 269 

LXVI. 
Mrs. Smith's Reverie 271 

LXVII. 
A Night-watch with a Dead Infant 273 

LXVIII. 
A Little Good Advice 275 

LXIX. 
The Other One 277 

LXX. 
A Pen and Ink Sketch 280 

LXXI. 
Fanny's "Rules for Ladies." 283 

1* 



X CONTENTS. 

LXXII. 
The Little Pauper 286 

LXXIII. 
What Fanny Thinks about Friendship 289 

LXXIV. 
Truth Stranger than Fiction 292 

LXXV. 
Don't Disturb Him _ „ 299 

LXXVI. 
A Model Husband.. „ 301 

LXXVII. 
What to do when you are Angry 303 

LXXVIII. 
The Early Blight 305 

LXXIX. 
There's Room Enough for All 309 

LXXX. 
The Cross and the Crown 312 

LXXXI. 
Tom Fay's Soliloquy 314 

LXXXII. 
A Chapter on Clergymen 318 

LXXXIII. 
Fanny Fern on Husbands 321 

LXXXIV. 
Fanny's Ideas, of Money Matters 324 

LXXXV 

A Letter to a Self-exiled Friend in the Country 327 



LIFE AND BEAUTIES 



OF 



FANNY FERN 

i. 

GENIUS IN PANTALETTES. 

OAEAH PAYSON WILLIS, the subject of this 
sketch, was bora in Portland, Maine, July 9th, 
1811. Through the negligence, doubtless, of the 
clerk of the town, it is not recorded that the sun 
stood still on the eventful morning, but old house- 
wives tell a legend of the cocks' crowing with 
extraordinary shrillness in honor of this wonderful 
advent. She is the daughter of Mr. Nathaniel 
Willis, one of the most industrious and respect- 
able citizens of Boston, now a man well advanced 
in years. It is scarcely necessary to add that she 
is sister to Mr. N. P. Willis, the brilliant essayist 
and poet. 

Mr. Willis, senior, " commenced life " as a me- 



12 

chanic, and at the time of his marriage worked 
at the case as a journeyman printer. He after- 
wards published the Eastern Argus, in Portland. 
Meeting with reverses in that city, he removed 
to Boston, where he established, and for many 
years edited, the "Recorder," the oldest religious 
paper in New-England. 

Mr. Willis has met with a similar experience to 
that of most men in his calling. He never made 
a fortune at publishing. At the present time, 
although aged and infirm, he finds it necessary 
to devote his failing energies to the publication 
of the "Youth's Companion." Yet, notwith- 
standing his narrow means, Mr. Willis contrived 
— at how great a sacrifice only parents can guess, 
to give his sons and daughters that education 
which is a poor man's noblest legacy. 



II 



FANNY AT SCHOOL. 

TN accordance with the course he had wisely 
planned for his children, Sarah Willis — tho 
veritable "Fanny " — was favored with an early in- 
troduction into the seminary of Miss Catherine E. 
Beecher, in Hartford, Conn. At this well-con- 
ducted establishment — the most popular in the 
country, at that time — Miss Fanny received her 
first strong impressions of life and the world. We 
have never heard her spoken of as a very apt or 
studious pupil. Staid works of philosophy and 
learning were not much to her taste. But from 
the prohibited pages of romances and poems, eagerly 
devoured in secret, her craving genius derived an 
active stimulus. Already she had become a keen 
dissector of the human heart, and she found plenty 
of pleasant practice for the scalpel of her wit among 



14 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

tile young ladies of the school. Here, too, the 
novel an d startling experiences of boarding-school 
flirtation gave their warm coloring to her future 
life. Fanny possessed a large capacity for this 
description of knowledge, and her writings show a 
better memory for those more pleasant branches 
of female education, than for the dry rules of syn- 
tax and prosody. In fact, the best of her sketches 
are transcripts of her school- girl life — for Fanny 
writes well only when giving the concentrated vin- 
egar and spice of her own vivid experiences. 

A sketch of Fanny's, entitled " A Leaf from 
my Experience," referring to her school-life, 
may, perhaps, form the best embodiment of the 
earlier portion of her school-history. 

" Miss Jemima Keturah Eix was at the head of 
a flourishing school for very young ladies and gen- 
tlemen. She originated in the blue state of Con- 
necticut, where the hens, from principle, refrain 
from laying eggs on Sunday, and the yeast stops 
working for the same reason. She had very little 
opinion of her own sex, and none at all of the other. 
Her means were uncommonly limited, yet ' she 
was too much of a gentlewoman to keep school, 
had it not been for her strong desire to reform the 
rising generation.' 



FANNY FERN. 15 

11 In person, she was tall and spare, with small, 
snapping black eyes, and thin, compressed lips, 
telling strongly of her vixenish propensities. She 
conld repeat the Ten Commandments and Assem- 
bly's Catechism backwards, without missing a word ; 
and was a firm believer in total depravity and the 
eternal destruction of little dead babies. 

u She had the usual variety of temper and dispo- 
sition, generally found in a school, and a way of 
her own of getting along with them. She would 
catch a refractory pupil with one hand by the 
shoulder, and press the thumb with such force into 
the hollow of the arm, that the poor victim was 
ready to subscribe to any articles of faith or prac- 
tice she might see fit to draw up ; and who of us 
will soon forget that old brass thimble, mounted on 
her skinny forefinger, as it came snapping against 
our foreheads ? 

" Being considered an untamable witch at home, 
I had the ill luck to be sent to this little initiatory 
purgatory. This was unfortunate, as Miss Eix and 
I looked at life through very different pairs of 
spectacles. The first great grief I can remember, 
was when I was about as tall as a rosebush, — nearly 
breaking my heart, because a little boy threw away 
one of my ringlets, that I cut off for his especial 
keeping. In fact, I may as well own it, I was born 



16 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

a coquette; and the lynx eyes of Miss Eix had 
already discovered it. 

" She always made a chalk line on the floor be- 
tween the girls and boys, that neither were allowed 
to cross without a special permit. Being aware of 
this, I had been in the habit of making certain 
telegraphic communications with a little lover of 
mine, in jacket and trowsers, on the other side of 
chalk-dom. 

" Little dreaming of the storm that was brewing, 
I sat watching her one morning, as she slowly drew 
from her pocket a long piece of cord, and tested its 
strength. Eaising her sharp cracked voice to its 
most crucifying pitch, she called, 

" ' Miss Minnie May and Mr. Harry Hall step 
out upon the floor.' Of course, we didn't do any- 
thing else, when, turning us back to back, she 
silently proceeded to tie our elbows together with 
the cord, remarking, with a satanic grin, as she sat 
down, that { we seemed to be so fond of each other, 
it was a pity to keep us apart.' 

"Now this was a very cutting thing to me, in 
more ways than one, as Harry's jacket sleeves pro- 
tected his arms, while my little fat elbows were 
getting redder every minute from the twitches he 
made to extricate himself; for, like some bigger 
boys, he was very willing to he & fair-weather lover } 



FANNY FERN. 17 

but couldn't face a storm. I've never forgiven him 
for it, (true to my woman nature,) and though I 
often meet him now, (he is a thriving physician 
with an extensive practice;) and he looks so 
roguishly from out those saucy black eyes, as much 
as to say, 'I wouldn't mind being tied to you now, 
Minnie,' I give him a perfect freezer of a look and 
* pass by on the other side.' 

" I understand that MissEix has rested from her 
labors and gone to her reward. I wish no bettei 
satisfaction than that she may get it 1 " 



III. 

THE NEW NAME. 

T?ANNY'S career as a young ladj seems to have 
been very lively. She recalls many amusing 
reminiscences of early flirtations. Among others, 
she led away captive the heart of a certain Unita- 
rian clergyman, the son of a wealthy family. As 
she affirms, however, "papa" concluded that he 
had learned the Westminster Catechism to so little 
purpose as to be no safe partner for his orthodox 
daughter. But, like a large spare chamber, swept 
and garnished, her affections had plenty of room 
for a new occupant. 

There were breezy walks on the common, mys- 
terious whisperings over skeins of thread with 
handsome clerks, until at length the conquering 
hero came. Like a sun-flower in the beams of 
morning, her heart expanded at the warm suit of 
her favored lover. 

May 4th, 1887, at a period of well-matured 
womanhood, Sarah Willis became Sarah Eldredge. 
The fortunate husband of the yet undeveloped 
genius, was an only child — the son of the late Dr. 



FANNY FEE N. 19 

Eldredge, a highly esteemed physician, in the 
neighborhood of Boston. Her first child died at 
the age of three years, but two remaining daugh- 
ters, the fruit of this union, now reside with their 
mother in New York. One is about ten, and the 
other we should judge from her appearance to 
be some fifteen years of age. 

Mr. Eldredge enjoyed a handsome income from 
his services as cashier of the Merchant's Bank, the 
largest institution of the kind in Boston. Now 
we esteem the domestic virtues of economy and 
prudence ; but a penurious mode of life is not so 
readily pardoned as the opposite extreme of lavish 
expenditure; and the devoted husband of so 
spirited a young wife may certainly be excused for 
"living" to the extent of his means. But, as 
Othello very properly observes, " Who can control 
his fate ? " Had the young banker been as wise 
as he was generous and indulgent, he would have 
looked forward through the long, bright vista of 
the present, to that proverbial " rainy day," liable 
at any time to befall. In. the prime of manhood, 
October 6th, 1846, he was cut off by a sharp, 
quick stroke from Death's remorseless hand ; and 
the wife and mother, awaking suddenly from her 
gay dreams, saw affliction and widowhood descend 
upon her like a pall. 



IV. 



THE 



THROUGHOUT the whole course of Fanny's 
writings we are presented with frequent and 
most pleasing pictures of her own self. Not only- 
does she figure as the graceful heroine of " Ruth 
Hall," but all her sketches have a connection 
more or less remote with the events of her own 
life. The following sketch, as we are assured, is 
a description of the death of her husband, though 
it contains one of the customary portraitures of 
Fanny herself. 

" The Young Wife's Affliction. — A delight- 
ful summer we passed, to be sure, at the 

Hotel, in the quiet village of S . A collection 

of prettier women, or more gentlemanly, agree- 
able men, were never thrown together by the 



FANNY FERN. 21 

necessity of seeking country quarters in the dog- 
days. Fashion, by common consent, was laid 
upon the shelf, and comfort and smiling faces 
were the natural result. Husbands took the cars 
in the morning for the city, rejoicing in linen 
coats and pants, and loose neck-ties ; their wives, 
equally independent till their return, in flowing 
muslin wrappers, not too dainty for the wear and 
tear of little climbing feet, fresh from the meadow 
or wildwood. 

n There were no separate ' cliques ' or ■ sets ; 7 
nobody knew, or inquired, or cared, whether your 
great grandfather had his horse shod, or shoed 
horses for other people. The ladies were not 
afraid of smutting their fingers, or their reputa- 
tion, if they washed their own children's faces ; 
and didn't consider it necessary to fasten the door, 
and close the blinds, when they replaced a missing 
button on their husband's waistband, or mended a 
ragged frock. 

" Plenty of fruit, plenty of fresh, sweet air 
plenty of children, and plenty of room for them 
to play in. A short nap in the afternoon, a little 
additional care in arranging tumbled ringlets, and 
in girding a fresh robe round the waist, and they 
were all seated in the cool of the evening on the 
long piazza, smiling, happy, and expectant, as the 



22 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

car bell announced the return of their liege lords 
from the dusty, heated city. It was delightful to 
see their business faces brighten up, as each fair 
wife came forward and relieved them from the 
little parcels and newspapers they carried in their 
hands, and smiled a welcome, sweet as the cool, 
fresh air that fanned their heated foreheads. A 
cold bath, a clean dickey, and they were present- 
able at the supper table, where merry jokes flew 
round, and city news was discussed between the 
fragrant cups of tea, and each man fell in love 
with his pretty wife over again, (or his neighbor's, 
if he liked !) 

" It was one harmonious, happy family ! Mrs. 

and her husband were the prime ministers 

of fun and frolic in the establishment. It was 
she who concocted all the games, and charades, 
and riddles, that sent our merry shouts ringing 
far and wide, as we sat in the evening on the long 
moonlit piazza. It was she who planned the pic- 
nics and sails, and drives in the old hay-cart ; the 
berry parties, and romps on the green ; and the 
little cosy suppers in the back parlor just before 
bed time (that nobody but herself could have 
coaxed out of the fussy old landlord.) It was she 
who salted our coffee and sugared our toast ; it was 
she who made puns for us, and wrote verses ; it 



FANNY FERK. 23 

was she who sewed up pockets in overcoats, or 
stole cigars, or dipped the ends in water ; it was 
she who nursed all the sick children in the house; 
it was she who cut out frocks, and pinafores, and 
caps, for unskilful mothers ; it was she who was 
here and there, - and every where, the embodi- 
ment of mischief, and fun, and kindness ; and as 
she flew past her handsome husband, (with her 
finger on her lip,) bent upon some new prank, he 
would look after her with a proud, happy smile, 
more eloquent than words. 

"He was the handsomest man I ever saw — tall, 
commanding and elegant, with dark blue eyes, a 
profusion of curling black hair, glittering white 
teeth, and a form like Apollo's. Mary was so 
proud of him I She would always watch his eye 
when she meditated any little piece of roguery, and 
it was discontinued or perfected as she read its Ian- 
guage. He was just the man to appreciate her — 
to understand her sensitive, enthusiastic nature ; 
to know when to check, when to encourage ; and 
it needed but a word, a look ; for her tvhole soul 
went out to him. 

" And so the bright summer days sped fleetly 
on ; and now autumn had come, with its gor- 
geous beauty, and no one had courage to speak of 



M LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

breaking up our happy circle ; but ah ! there came 
one, with stealthy steps, who had no such scruples ! 

" The merry shout of the children is hushed in 
the wide halls ; anxious faces are grouped on the 
piazza ; for in a darkened room above, lies Mary's 
princely husband, delirious with fever ! The smile 
has fled her lip, the rose her cheek; her eye is 
humid with tears that never fall ; day and night 
without sleep or food, she keeps untiring vigil ; 
while (unconscious of her presence,) in tones that 
pierce her heart, he calls unceasingly for ' my 
wife ! ' She puts back the tangled masses of dark 
hair from his heated forehead ; she passes her little 
hand coaxingly over it ; she hears not the advice 
of the physician, 'to procure a nurse.' She fears 
not to be alone with him when he is raving. She 
tells no one that on her delicate breast she bears 
the impress of an (almost) deadly blow from the 
hand that was never before raised but to bless her. 
And now the physician, who has come once, twice, 
thrice a day from the city, tells the anxious groups 
in the hall that his patient must die; not one dare 
break the news to the wretched Mary ! There is 
little need ! She has gazed in their faces with a 
keen, agonized earnestness ; she has asked no 
questions, but she knows it all ; and her heart m 



FANNY FERN. 25 

dying within her ! No entreaty, no persuasion can 
draw her from the bedside. 

"The old doctor, with tearful eyes, passes his 
arm round her trembling form, and says, * My 
child, you cannot meet the next hour — leave him 
with me.' 

" A mournful shake of the head is his only an- 
swer, as she takes her seat again by her husband, 
and presses her forehead low, upon that clammy 
hand ; praying God that she may die with him. 

" An hour of time — an eternity of agony has 
passed ! A fainting, unresisting form is borne 
from that chamber of Death. 

11 Beautiful as a piece of rare sculpture, lies the 
husband ! — no trace of pain on lip or brow ; the 
long, heavy lashes lie upon the marble cheek ; the 
raven locks, damp with the dew of death, cluster 
profusely round the noble forehead ; those chisel- 
led lips are gloriously beautiful in their repose ! 
Tears fall like rain from kindly eyes; servants 
pass to and fro, respectfully, with measured tread; 
kind hands are busy with vain attempts to restore 
animation to the fainting wife. Oh that bitter, 
bitter waking ! (for she does wake. God pity 
her!) 

" Her hand is passed slowly across her forehead ; 
she remembers ! she is a widow ! ! She looks 
2 



26 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC 

about the room — there is his hat, his coat, his cane ; 
and now, indeed, she throws herself, with a burst 
of passionate grief, into the arms of the old physi- 
cian, who says, betwixt a tear and a smile, ' Now 
God be praised — she weeps ! " 

" And so with the falling leaves of Autumn, 
( the Great Eeaper ' gathered in our noble friend. 
Why should I dwell on the agony of the gentle 
wife ? or tell of her return to her desolate home in 
the city ; of the disposal of the rare pictures and 
statuary collected to grace its walls by the refined 
taste of its proprietor ; of the necessary disposal 
of every article of luxury ; of her removal to plain, 
lodgings, where curious people speculated upon 
her history, and marked her moistened eyes ; of the 
long, interminable, wretched days ; of the wake- 
ful nights, when she lay with her cheek pressed 
against the sweet, fatherless child of her love ; of 
her untiring efforts to seek an honorable, indepen- 
dent support? It is but an every-day history, but 
(God knows) its crushing weight of agony is none 
the less keenly felt by the sufferer ! " 



V. 

THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 

"FORTUNATELY for the subject of our sketch, 
her father, though poor, as we have said, 
hastened to make what provision he could afford 
for the comfort of the broken family. Nor did 
Dr. Eldredge turn a deaf ear, or pass by on the 
other side. Some bitter thoughts were doubt- 
less occasioned, by the remembrance of the luxu- 
ries of which she had been so suddenly bereft ; it 
was hard to sink like a star behind the hills of 
adversity — to pass suddenly from a gay and 
splendid career into the obscurity of a more 
common-place and quiet life ; and we can excuse 
the sensitive Fanny for some unreasonable com- 
plaints ; but, thanks to her own and her husband's 
father, she had the consolation and treasure of a 
home — a home, which, however modest, was in 



28 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OP 

every respect comfortable, and not altogether 
inelegant. 

Sarah Eldredge was now in the full flush and 
vigor of womanhood — and a widow ! It is a wise 
provision of nature which ordains that the most 
deeply wounded heart shall not always bleed. 
Hope springs from the ashes of grief. Time 
buries the dead past, and lifts the curtain from 
the glowing future. Night comes, that another 
morning, with all its glory and freshness, may 
dawn upon the earth. "Why then waste the 
energies of youth in mourning over graves ? 
They will not give up their dead ; already the 
spirit of the lost one looks down upon us from 
blissful spheres, and says, "Be happy!" to our 
sorrowing hearts. Such a voice came to the 
young widow. She called reason and faith to 
her aid. She saw herself still blooming and 
attractive; the same inviting world lay all around 
her; she longed for sympathy, for change, for 
life. Her first matrimonial venture had proved 
a happy one ; and the memory thereof prompted 
her to risk another voyage on Wedlock's perilous 
sea. Thus it might have been the very power 
of love that bound her to her first husband which 
threw open the welcoming doors to the advances 
of a new suitor. 



FANNY FERN. 29 

Mr. Farrington, a merchant of Boston — a man 
of energy and upright character — made an offer 
of his hand. He had himself enjoyed matrimonial 
experience — was himself a parent — and was well 
qualified to sympathize with the young widow. 
They sought mutual consolation in marriage. 
But scarce was the honeymoon over, when that 
mutual consolation was followed by mutual sur- 
prise. Fanny learned to her sorrow that all 
husbands are not equally fond and indulgent; 
and the bridegroom discovered that Mrs. F. No. 2 
wasn't the exact counterpart of Mrs. F. No. 1. 
The contrast was, in fact, so vast and amazing, 
that it seemed to require solitude and quiet, to 
consider it in all its bearings. Accordingly, Mr. 
Farrington resorted to travel and a change of 
scene; journeyed westward; and has not since 
been seen on the down-east slope of the continent. 
The slender tie of affection between the happy 
pair, thus long drawn out, like a thread of India 
rubber, finally snapped. 

At the time of his departure, Fanny was board- 
ing with her children at the Marlboro' Hotel in 
Boston. Soon after, however, she removed to 
quiet but pleasant lodgings in another quarter of 
the city. 

Mr. Farrington took up his abode in Chicago, 



so 

and soon after Fanny was connubially advertised 
in the columns of the Boston Daily Bee. Then, 
from the auction mart of a western court, Mr. F. 
gave out three warnings ; cried — " Going ! — 
going! ! — gone !! 1" and legally knocked down his 
wife with the hammer of divorce. 

Once more separated from her husband, the 
dashing Fanny wore no mourning weeds. Her 
lively circle of acquaintances found her fireside no 
less attractive than formerly. Once more a widow 
she had learned to wear gracefully her honors. 



VI. 

FANNY FEEN AT HOME. 

Tj^ANNY FERN'S writings are expressive of hei 
character. But, if possible, she is twice as orig- 
inal, spicy, and entertaining, in her person as in 
her sketches. To understand her perfectly, one 
should see her and talk with her ; and to see her 
and talk with her to advantage, one should meet her 
on terms of chatty familiarity in her own private 
apartments. 

Fanny's home in Boston is well remembered by 
her favored acquaintances. Introduced into her 
unique parlor, the visitor found himself surrounded 
by pleasing evidences of luxury and taste, charac- 
terizing its occupant as a woman of elegant leisure. 
A subdued, monastic light, pervading the apart- 
ment, never failed to add its charm to the visit. 
Convenient shutters, and heavy folds of curtains 



32 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

robbed the saucy daylight of its too garish beams, 
and by night, in the still and quiet hours, a rich 
shade surrounded the glowing globe of the astral, 
tempering its lustre to a soft, mellow effulgence. 

Fanny — as we have hinted — is just like her 
sketches, only "more so." Bubbles and flashes 
might be gathered from her conversation, that 
would eclipse anything she ever wrote. To have 

her sit by your side one hour, and sparkle, 

{talk don't express the idea,) is worth all the Fern 
Leaves and Kuth Halls in the world. Witty and 
pathetic by turns ; now running over with fun, 
and now with tears ; always sprightly, always 
plain and terse in her language, she is sure to en- 
tertain you for one hour at least, as no other 
woman can. She will entertain you another hour, 
some time, if you choose. But the probability is, 
you don't choose. Such women don't wear well. 
Their conversations are like " Fern Leaves" — bril- 
liant enough at first, but presently wearisome, and 
insipid. Consequently they have a great many 
short acquaintances, but no long ones. Their 
friends are not fast friends. "We doubt if Fanny 
ever enjoyed an enthusiastic friendship which lasted 
more than a couple of years. 

Fanny's words are the least of her fascinations. 
Her manner is that of a consummate actress. And 



FANNY FERN. S3 

it is not long before you discover that she is little 
else than an actress. Her tears are regular stage 
tears. If she desires to excite your sympathy, she 
knows better than anybody else, how to do it. 
She'll improvise a " Ruth Hall" story for you, in- 
venting wrongs and sufferings to fit the occasion, 
and drop a few ready tears, like hot wax, to seal 
her testimony, — sometimes sobbing a little, and 
pressing your hand convulsively, to heighten the 
effect. 

Oh, she can be fascinating as Cleopatra. She 
knows how to thrill you with an unexpected 
touch. Then her voice, how artistically tender its 
modulations, how musically mirthful, how musi- 
cally sad by turns ! Oh, Fanny is a great woman ! 
She should go upon the stage, or institute a new 
"school of art and design " for the fair sex. 

Fanny has an off-hand, dashing way of enter- 
taining company, which we have never seen sur- 
passed. If you are so fortunate as to be a favored 
visitor, and to find her alone, you may make sure 
of her, for at least one evening. No matter who 
calls; the haughty Mr. A., the foppish B., the 
jealous and frowning C, are all neglected for youi 
sake. " Sit still," says Fanny, " and they'll have 
sense enough to see they are not wanted, and with 
draw." Accordingly, in a little while, out goes A., 



34 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

very stiffly. Then B. retires, bowing snobbishly, 
and making insipid remarks about the weather. 
Finally comes poor C.'s gruff and lowering " good 
evening/' And Fanny, clapping her hands, and 
laughing merrily, rejoins you upon the sofa, after 
shutting the door upon her last visitor — and whis- 
pering a consoling word in his ear, behind your 
back. Oh, matchless, diplomatic Fanny ! 

Of course the polite Fanny does the agreeable in 
introducing you to her friends. But she entertains 
odd ideas about names. Sometimes you are ready 
to explode in convulsions of mirth, at the delight- 
fully careless manner in which she bestows upon 
you some comic patronymic, never before heard of 
in your family history. To-night you are Mr. 
Pilridge. Last night you figured as Smith. To- 
morrow you'll be Jenkins or Jones. 

Fanny is consistent, and invents names for all 
her visitors. You are no exception. Mr. White 
is introduced to you as Mr. Brown. (Why, 
indeed, shouldn't a lady take the same liberty 
with her friends' names as with her own com- 
plexion, and just change the color a trifle ?) Mr. 
Webb becomes Mr. Wing — a mere difference 
of a pinion. Mr. Eose is transformed into Mr. 
Minks, — probably on the principle that a rose by 
any other name will smell as sweet. In the same 



FANNY FERN. 35 

way a Walker is dignified as a Ryder; Dix is 
expanded into Richards ; Rich becomes Poore, 
and French is translated into English. 

Now mistakes will happen in the best regulated 
families. Some funny ones occur in Fanny's. 
'Tisn't so easy a thing to remember all her names. 
Accordingly, forgetting that you are called John- 
son, for this evening, you gravely address Mr. 
Howard by that name. That gentleman replies, 
with a knowing smile, that Johnson is your name 
— you laugh, Fanny laughs, and it passes as a 
good joke. Or, perhaps, the other visitor has also 
become slightly confused, and readily subscribing 
to Johnson, bestows Howard upon you, by way 
of exchange. Or, while passing for Smith, you 
meet some one who knew you last week as 
Pilridge. 

Another pleasant incident is liable to occur. 
By a coincidence, you meet at Fanny's some 
friend whom you astonish into silence. You are 
similarly astonished ; and observing no signs of 
recognition, Fanny proceeds to introduce you. 
You can scarcely contain yourself on hearing 
familiar Bob Peters dubbed as General Buding- 
ton ; and he looks hugely tickled at your appella • 
tion of Kev. Mr. Bird. 

One additional circumstance we should not fail 



36 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 

to state. You never meet a lady visitor at Fan- 
ay's. There appears to be but little affinity be- 
tween her and her own sex. " Cause unknown," 
as coroners' verdicts say of " poor deaths " that 
occur through neglect of the city authorities. 



VII. 

EARLY LITERARY EFFORTS. 

T?ANNY first appeared before the public, in the 
columns of the Olive Branch, sometimes as 
"Fanny Fern," and in several instances as "Oli- 
via Branch." We knew, personally, the good 
old man, "frosty, yet kindly," who at that time 
filled the editorial chair of that paper. We re 
member distinctly his own account of some of 
their frequent interviews. Like most others who 
viewed Fanny through the enchanted medium of 
a not too intimate acquaintance, he was, in some 
sense, dazzled by her fascinations. Fanny is a 
regular meteor. You cannot choose but look at 
her, even if you don't place much faith in a light 
so erratic and fitful. The bewildered old gentle- 
man felt the touch of those magnetic little fingers 
upon his shoulder, and looked up, over his spec- 



38 LIFE AND 

tacles, in absolute bewilderment, at the thing of 
smiles and tears standing before him. 

No wonder that he thought the sensitive, im- 
pulsive Fanny must be faultless, and sympathized 
profoundly in her execrations on hard-hearted 
parents and tyrannical husbands. No wonder, if 
defended by such lips, the worse appeared the 
better reason — and the price per column dwindled 
into comparative insignificance. Mr. JSTorris was 
Fanny's faithful friend. Already tottering toward 
the grave, he was not, indeed, able to render her 
as much actual service as the younger and more 
vigorous editor of The True Flag, who was, next 
to Mr. K, her earliest patron, but the proprietor 
of the Olive Branch gave her employment, friend- 
ship and counsel, which should have secured in 
return, at least gratitude. 

As we have intimated, Fanny had contributed 
but few articles to the Olive Branch, before form- 
ing an engagement with the Boston True Flag, and 
our next chapter will be devoted to a graphic 
description of her connection with that paper, by 
its editor. 



VIII. 

FANNY AND THE TRUE FLAG. 

OCENE, True Flag Office, Morning. — In- 

^ dustrious Editor at his desk. Enter dapper 

young gentleman, bowing. — Editor, with a pen 
over each ear and one in his fingers, looks up, nod- 
ding politely. 

Young Gent. — Are you in want of contributions 
to your paper ? 

Ed. — We are always glad to get good original 
articles, sir. Please take a seat. 

Y. G. — Thank you, sir. (Sits down in a Flag- 
bottomed chair — we mean, a chair with a pile of 
True Flags in it.) I am not a writer myself, but I 
have a lady friend, who, although inexperienced, 
manifests a good deal of literary talent, and would 
like to try her hand at an article or two for your 
paper. She belongs to a distinguished literary 



40 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

family ; her father is an editor, and she has a 
brother who is also an editor, and the author of 
several of the most popular books ever published 
in this country. 

JEd. — Very well ; we should be pleased to see a 
specimen of what she can do. (Y. Gr. withdraws.) 

Such was substantially the manner in which the 
yet unknown authoress, destined soon to become 
so celebrated, was first introduced to our notice. 
We should not, however, fail to state, in this con- 
nection, that already Mr. Norris, of the Olive 
Branch, had communicated to a member of our 
firm the fact, that a sister of Mr. K. P. Willis had 
applied to him for employment, and that he had 
recommended the True Flag as an additional source 
of income. Therefore, without the calling of 
names, we were prepared to make a shrewd guess 
at the identity of the young gent's lady friend. 

According to agreement, a couple of fragrant 
Ferns were plucked in due season, (no pun on the 
word due,) and sent to our office. We found the 
leaves a little coarse in fibre, but spicy, and accept- 
able. Fanny wrote upon a big foolscap page, in a 
large, open, very masculine hand. The manu- 
script was characteristic — decidedly Ferny — dash- 
ed all over with astonishing capitals and crazy 
italics — and stuck full with staggering exclamation 



FANNY FERN. 41 

points, as a pin-cushion with pins. In print, the 
italics were intended to resemble jolly words lean- 
ing over and tumbling down with laughter, and 
the interjections were supposed to be tottering un- 
der the two-fold weight of double-entendres and 
puns. At first sight, the writing looked as though 
it might have been paced off by trained canary- 
birds — driven first through puddles of ink, then 
marched into hieroglyphic drill on the sheet like a 
militia company on parade. All Fanny's manu- 
scripts demanded a good deal of editorial care to 
prepare them for the press ; her first productions, 
particularly, requiring as thorough weeding as so 
many beds of juvenile beets and carrots. 

Fanny's price — we mean the price of her articles 
— was two dollars a column. This was readily 
acceded to ; and the young gent received the mo- 
ney for her first contributions — eight dollars for 
four columns — the morning after their delivery 
into our hands. In this place, it would be inex- 
cusable not to speak of another characteristic of 
the Fern manuscripts. When purchased, paid for, 
properly pruned and prepared for the printer's 
hands, they were invariably found to fall short of 
the stipulated amount of reading matter — one of 
her spread-eagle pages nestling very quietly and 
nicely into a few lines of print. So trifling a cir- 



42 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

cumstance, however, was not, of course, to be con- 
sidered, in dealing with a lady. 



Another Scene. True Flag Office, ten 
o'clock, A. m. Editor at his desk, with pens as be- 
fore, and an additional pencil in his hair. — Enter 
jaunty bonnet, with gay feathers, elegant veil, rich 
broadcloth cloak, and silk dress — rather magnifi- 
cent, if not more so. Editor hastens to place a 
chair. 

Jaunty Bonnet, (in a low, half- whisper, under the 
veil) — Excuse me — I'm a little out of breath, run- 
ning up stairs. I've brought Mr. Snooks to intro- 
duce me. 

Mr. Snooks turned out to be a Fern manu- 
script. The jaunty bonnet carried him in an ele- 
gant reticule, in close proximity to a coquettish 
hankerchief, redolent of perfume. The jaunty 
bonnet turned out to be — Fanny herself! Mr. 
Snooks was for sale, and we bought him. Price, 
two dollars a column — cheap enough for Snooks. 
"We afterwards dotted his i's, dressed him up a 
little, changed his name — Snooks was a bad name 
— and printed him. 

This was our first interview with the witty and 
brilliant Fanny. Certainly, we did not judge that 
so gay and fashionable an attire had that morning 



FANNY FERN. 43 

issued from a dismal garret, in a dark and narrow 
lane — that those well-rounded proportions drew 
their sole subsistence from the " homoeopathic 
broth" of niggardly landladies. Indeed, no starv 
ing necessity had compelled her to resort to the pen. 
With a true woman's spirit, she believed she could 
do something for herself, and determined to try. 
We liked her articles — she liked our pay — so we 
engaged her as a regular contributor. We sug- 
gested that she should write stories, in addition to 
her sketches — by which arrangement she might 
easily earn fifteen dollars a week. She pleaded the 
necessity of finishing everything she undertook, at 
one sitting, and her inability to elaborate a long 
story. Still she desired more employment ; at the 
same time, the too-frequent repetition of " Fanny 
Fern v in our columns would injure both herself 
and us ; so the matter was compromised by giving 
her a second nom de plume — that of " Olivia," — 
which was attached to a number of her sketches. 

Up to this period, Mrs. Farrington had no repu- 
tation whatever as a writer, and we purchased her 
articles for their intrinsic merits only, paying for 
them what they were actually worth to us. As 
her reputation increased, and her value as a contri- 
butor was heightened, her remuneration was aug- 
mented accordingly. Although we paid her five 



44 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

dollars a column, — the columns generally falling 
short one-third, at that, — we cheerfully gave her 
her own terms, until, when she demanded twelve 
dollars a column, we thought we would just take 
three or four days to scratch our editorial ear, and 
think about it. In this place, it may be proper to 
state that, at one time, without giving us any no- 
tice whatever, she broke her engagement, and en- 
tered into a contract with a New York publisher, 
by which she was to write exclusively for his paper 
for one year. The terms offered were liberal, and 
for her sake, we rejoiced at her good future. But 
munificent promises do not always lead to rich ful- 
filment ; and it was not long before Mrs. Farring- 
ton gladly returned to those in whose service she 
had always been promptly and handsomely paid. 

Fanny's style was novel and sparkling, if not 
very refined, and her fame sprang up almost in a 
night-time. Messrs. Derby & Miller, booksellers, 
of Auburn, 1ST. Y., had the shrewdness to see that 
a volume of her sketches would be apt to make a 
stir in the market, and wrote to us for information 
touching her real name and address. We replied 
that we were not then at liberty to divulge the 
name, but that any communications directed to our 
care would reach her. A correspondence was at 
once opened, and Mrs. Farrington was offered four 



FANNY FERN. 45 

hundred dollars for sufficient material for a volume 
— or, if she preferred, ten cents a copy on every 
edition printed. 

Now four hundred dollars cash, was tempting. 
It would purchase a rich dress, a dashing shawl, 
11 several pairs of gaiter-boots," and numerous boxes 
of those sovereign preparations, noted for the quali- 
ties that " impart a natural beauty to the com- 
plexion." In accordance with our advice, however, 
(for we foresaw a large sale for the book,) she 
resolved to risk a little, in the hope that much 
might be gained, and accept the commission of ten 
cents a copy. The volume was easily thrown 
together, being compiled principally from the files 
of the Olive Branch and the True Flag. It was 
stereotyped at the New-England Foundry, in this 
city, and all the proof-sheets passed through our 
hands. 

At this time, Mrs. Farrington and her youngest 
child, " little Ella," boarded with a respectable 
family, in the spacious brick dwelling-house, 
fro. 642 Washington-street; her eldest daughter 
•esiding with her grandfather Eldredge. Fanny 
occupied an elegant suite of rooms on the second 
4oor. The parlor was sumptuously furnished ; 
chairs of solid mahogany, covered with velvet — 
with centre-table, sofa, carpet, &c, of correspond- 



46 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OP 

ing richness. The numerous visitors had no reason 
to suspect that all these luxuries were only poverty 
in disguise. Nor would one readily imagine that 
the plump Ella and her blooming mother were 
accustomed to breakfast on shadowy dishes of 
hope, have the same served up, cold, for dinner, 
and then go supperless to bed. The landlady 
had an excellent reputation for liberality and 
kindness, and looked like anything but the cruel 
ogress represented in Fanny's writings. The fact 
is — whatever may be said to the contrary by 
Fanny and her especial sympathizers, — she was 
at this time living in a style of luxury and 
elegance which would have reflected no dis- 
credit upon any lady of fashion. There may 
be some good reason for concealing this sug- 
gestive fact, but we cannot discover any. 

" Fern Leaves, from Fanny's Portfolio " — the 
last part of the title originated with ourselves, 
and was adopted by Fanny — finally made ita 
appearance. She was fortunate in her publishers. 
Never was book advertised so lavishly. No 
expense of time, money, or tact, was spared, to 
create a sensation and great sales. The result ia 
known ; Fanny had occasion to thank us for our 
counsel; her commission amounted to several 
thousand dollars. Flushed with success, she 



FANNY FERN. 47 

moved from our sober, puritanic town, to the 
gay metropolis of New- York. But such reputa- 
tions are short-lived. " Little Ferns " followed, 
and met with but a moderate sale. A second 
series of Leaves was then published — but "oh, 
what a falling off was there I" The demand for 
the book was quite limited. 



IX 



FANNY FERN IN CHURCH. 

rvURING Fanny Fern's residence in Boston she 
was a regular attendant at the Park-street 
(Orthodox) church. Undoubtedly this circum- 
stance arose from a strong sentiment of natural 
affection. Not being on particularly intimate 
terms with her family, it was without doubt a 
great pleasure to catch such stray glimpses of 
their well-known faces as might be obtained 
under the lofty dome of their favorite church. 

It must have been by accident that she strayed 
away, one Sunday, from the well-beaten Calvin- 
istic path into the new Music Hall, to listen to 
the eloquence of Theodore Parker. We regret, 
however, that she labored under a misconcep- 
tion with regard to the character of this church. 
Meting out justice to all, we must admit that it 



FANNY FERN. 49 

is the most democratic place of the kind in 
Boston. Black and white, rich or poor, alike 
are welcome. The seats are free, in pursuance 
of the old adage, "first come, first served." Not 
here, as in too many of our churches, is the 
Christian gospel, " Son, give me thy heart,'' 
perverted by the man with the black velvet bag 
into " Son, give me thy cash ! " The contribution 
box, that terror to church-goers, is very rarely 
encountered, the expenses being defrayed by 
voluntary yearly subscriptions. But Fanny, re- 
gardless of these facts, must be held responsible 
for the sketch which follows : — 

" Do you call this a church ? Well, I heard a 
prima dona here a few nights ago; and bright 
eyes sparkled, and waving ringlets kept time to 
moving fans; and opera-glasses and ogling, and 
fashion and folly reigned for the nonce trium- 
phant, /can't forget it; I can't get up any devo- 
tion here, under these latticed balconies, with their 
fashionable freight. Now if it was a good old 
country church, with a cracked bell and unhewn 
rafters, a pine pulpit, with the honest sun staring 
in through the windows, a pitch-pipe in the gal- 
lery, and a few hob-nailed rustics scattered round 
in the uncushioned seats, I should feel all right ; 
4 



50 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

but my soul is in fetters here ; it won't soar — its 
wings are earth- clipped. Things are all too fine ! 
Nobody can come in at that door, whose hat and 
'coat and bonnet are not fashionably cut. The 
poor man (minus a Sunday suit) might lean on his 
staff in the porch, a long while, before he'd dare 
venture in, to pick up his crumb of the Bread of 
Life. But, thank God, the unspoken prayer of 
penitence may wing its way to the Eternal 
Throne, though our mocking church-spires point 
only with aristocratic fingers to the rich marts 
heaven. 

11 That hymn was beautifully read ; there's poetry 
in the preacher's soul. Now he takes his seat by 
the reading-desk ; now he crosses the platform, 
and offers his hymn-book to a female who has just 
entered. What right has he to know there was a 
woman in the house ? Let the bonnets find their 
own hymns — 'tisn't clerical ! 

"Well, I take a listening attitude, and try to 
believe I am in church. I hear a great many ori- 
ginal, a great many startling things said. I see the 
gauntlet thrown at the dear old orthodox Calvinistic 
sentiments which I nursed in, with my mother's 
milk, and which (please God) I'll cling to till I die. 
I see the polished blade of satire glittering in the 
air, followed by curious, eager, youthful eyes, 



FANNY FERN". 51 

which gladly see the searching ( Sword of the 
Spirit ' parried. Meaning glances — smothered 
smiles, and approving nods, follow the witty cleri- 
cal sally. The author pauses to mark the effect, 
and his face says — That stroke tells ! and so it did, 
for ' the Athenians ' are not all dead, who ' love 
to see and hear some new thing.' But he has 
another arrow in his quiver. How his features 
soften — his voice is low and thrilling, his imagery 
beautiful and touching. He speaks of human 
love ; he touches skilfully a chord to which 
every heart vibrates ; and stern manhood is strug- 
gling with his tears, ere his smiles are chased away. 

" Oh, there's intellect there — there's poetry 
there — there's genius there ; but I remember Greth- 
semane — I forget not Cavalry ! I know the 
* rocks were rent' and the 'heavens darkened,' 
and ' the stone rolled away ; ' and a cold chill 
strikes to my heart when I hear ' Jesus of Naza- 
reth ' lightly mentioned. 

" Oh, what are intellect, and poetry, and genius, 
when with Jewish voice they cry, ' Away with 
Him!' 

" ' With Mary,' let me ' bathe his feet with my 
tears, and wipe them with the hairs of my head.' 

11 And so, I * went away sorrowful,' that this 
human teacher, with such great intellectual posses' 
sions, should yet ' lack the one thing needfuV " 



X. 

FANNY FERN IN BROADWAY. 

TJ A ! there she comes, Ned ! " says Mr. Augus- 
tus Smallcane, lounging on the arm of his 
friend. 

" Mag-nif-i-cent ! " drawls Mr. Tap wit, putting 
his glass in his eye. " What a bust ! " 

" Isn't that a gait, Ned ! " 

" It's a-door-able ! " 

Mr. Tapwit chuckled, to let Mr. Smallcane see 
that a pun was intended. Mr. Smallcane recog- 
nized it with an " 0, don't now, Ned ! " 

" Won't we have a splendid sight at her? " ex- 
claimed Mr. Tapwit. " Crowd this way. What 
a figure ! " 

" What a foot ! " adds Smallcane. 

And the gentlemen continue to stare and make 
remarks while the lady passes. 



FANNY FERN. 53 

Does she care ? She looks as if she liked it ! 
She is none of your feeble, timid, common-place 
women. She " goes in " for sensation and effect — 
which few know so well how to produce. 

Fanny Fern — there ! we didn't mean to let the 
secret out ; but it is Fanny we mean — is a full, 
commanding woman. She looks high, steps high, 
and carries her head high. She has light brown 
hair, florid complexion, and large, blue eyes. 
When she appears in company, her color verges 
upon the rosy. If you talk with her in broad 
daylight, she has a trick of dropping her veil, to 
prevent a too close scrutiny of her features. When 
her veil is up, you can see that she has a luscious 
cheek, large nose, slightly aquiline, mouth of 
character, if not of beauty, and a vigorous chin, 
Fanny isn't handsome, and never was. But she 
has a splendid form, a charming foot and ankle, a 
fascinating expression, and the manners of a queen. 

Dress and equipage are not the least part of 
Fanny. She is as dependent upon these as a pea- 
cock upon his tail. She wears black because it 
becomes her better than any other color. A wid- 
ow of forty — fair — in mourning — how interesting ! 
Her magnificent, sweeping flounces occupy the 
space of any five ordinary, uninflated females. 
She moves with a great rustle and swell, majestic. 



M LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 

She is preceded by her eldest daughter, already 
a young lady, as a sort of armor-bearer. Her 
youngest child, " Ella," follows sprucely at her 
heels, like a page. And so, up and down Broad- 
way, sails Fanny Fern, proud, haughty, ambitious, 
scorned by some, admired by many — loved by 
few. 



XI 

FANNY AT THE TREMONT HOUSE. 

r\OOD John Walter is Fanny's man-at-arms. He 
is the last and most faithful of her servants. 
She needs some person in that capacity, and 
shrewdly manages never to be without such a 
champion. She was fortunate, after many trials, 
in falling upon so choice an acquisition as John 
Walter. 

Fanny cannot be accused of choosing her cham- 
pion from any such motive as personal beauty. 
John isn't alarmingly handsome — not half so 
beautiful as he is good. Of tall and gaunt figure, 
with a lean-and-hnngry-Cassius look, bran-like 
eyes, an oyster-like open to his mouth, fiery hair, 
an incendiary whisker, a windy manner of talk- 
ing, and a gaseous atmosphere pervading his per- 
son generally — oh, no ! Fanny couldn't have cho- 
sen John for his beauty. 



56 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

John's championship never shone with more 
dazzling lustre, than on his visit to Boston, in her 
train, last summer. He came like the very Napo- 
leon of snobs. Boston was to be taken by storm. 
"The three-hilled city," said John, "shall bow 
down at our coming." "John," answered Fanny, 
" I regard you as a prophet. You are a man of 
sense. The three hills shall bow down." 

They fortified themselves in the Sebastopol of 
the Tremont House, — that stronghold so formida- 
ble to turkey, — and sent forth their proclamations. 
But, somehow, there was no movement of the 
three-hilled city. Not a block trembled. Not a 
brick stirred. Fanny began to chafe. In vain 
she searched the columns of the daily papers, to 
find complimentary notices of her arrival. Not a 
word on the subject. She, who expected a tri- 
umph equal to Jenny Lind's, found herself of no 
more account in the three-hilled city, whose duty 
it was to bow down, than the wife of John Smith, 
the joiner, who went on at the same time to hunt 
up a second cousin. 

Meanwhile good John Walter exerted himself. 
In his windiest manner, he thrust that lank figure 
of his into every nook and corner, where he hoped 
to generate a little interest in his famous protegee 



FANNY FERN. 57 

" She's come ! " whispered John mysteriously, in 
the ear of an influential editor. 

"Ha!" said the editor, "has she?" and went 
on with his writing. 

" She is at the Tremont House," resumed John, 
with an air of vast importance, "where she re- 
ceives her friends. The rush to see her is very 
great, and we have to resort to every means to 
keep the multitude at bay. You, of course, would 
be a privileged one, and I should be happy to 
introduce you." 

11 Thank you," said the editor, as he dipped his 
pen. 

"Do you know," — John began to bluster—- 
" there are vipers in human form, in this city, 
who have dared to sting that woman's repu- 
tation?" 

"I know nothing of the kind," replied tho 
editor. 

" You ought to know it ; and I am authorized 
to say this : Fanny expects her friends to vindi- 
cate her character, and crush these vipers. There 
is that rascal, Mr. Blank " 

" Mr. Blank is a friend of mine, sir." 

" But " — John waxed bombastic — " You cannot 
be a friend of his and a friend of Fanny Fern's 

3* 



58 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

He said, in his paper, that she has a husband 
living " 

" Which is true, I believe," remarked the 
editor, quietly. 

" Bat sir" — here John choked — "she is a 
woman, and no gentleman will make remarks of 
the kind about a woman, — a woman, sir, is sa- 
cred ; and Fanny Fern is one of the noblest of 
her sex. From your character as an editor and a 
man, I had every reason to believe that you 
would not hesitate to espouse her cause " 

"Mr. Walter," interrupted the editor, "your as- 
sumption is somewhat astounding, but it has not 
quite taken away my breath — I have still a modest 
word to say. I do not see that it is my duty to go 
and cudgel Mr. Blank, nor do I consider the induce- 
ment you hold out, quite sufficient to authorize me 
to engage in any quarrels except my own. I will 
not trouble you to introduce me to Miss Fern. I 
wish you a good morning, sir ! " 

John varied his manner with different people. 
To some he was insinuating and smooth ; to others, 
bluff and lowering ; but all his efforts were unsuc- 
cessful. Nobody would go and whip Mr. Blank ; 
nobody cared much about meeting Fanny Fern. 
And here let us not be misunderstood. It was no 
fault of John's, that he did not succeed. He was 



FANNY FERN. 59 

zealous to the last degree. Still less was it Fanny's 
fault She was, as he expressed it, " the noblest of 
her sex." The truth is, — and to the shame of that 
city be it spoken, — there was no Don Quixote in 
Boston ! If Boston could have boasted of so much 
chivalry, Mr. Blank would have been cudgelled, 
and Fanny avenged. 

Having utterly failed to create any kind of a sen. 
sation ;, — having waited in vain to " receive friends " 
at the Tremont, — it was judged expedient to make 
a grand sally upon the town. An open barouche 
was accordingly ordered, and Fanny, richly attired, 
and attended by noble John Walter, rode ostenta- 
tiously through the streets. A kind of sensation 
was produced, — but not the right kind. People 
looked, and laughed, and winked. Some said, 
" Lucky John Walter ! 5? Others, who knew Fanny, 
said, " Poor John Walter ! " Still Fanny was let 
alone ; nobody troubled her ; the world turned 
round, and Boston turned with it, the same ; and 
Mr. Blank remains uncudgeled to this day. 

And so Fanny and the redoubtable John made 
haste to evacuate their Sebastopol, withdrawing 
their forces quietly, and returned, inglorious, to 
New York. 



XII. 

A KEY TO "RUTH HALL." 

PANNY FERN'S latest literary effort is the 
production of a novel entitled " Ruth Hall." 
Much curiosity has been excited in the minds of 
the public as to the originals of her various por- 
traitures. It will be fully satisfied by the perusal 
of the following criticism from the pen of an able 
reviewer. 

" Wouldn't I call things by their right names ? Would 
I praise a book because a woman wrote it ? " — Ruth Hall, 
p. 307. 

" "We have called Fanny Fern a literary star. 
We should qualify the expression. There is no 
clear, strong lustre, no steady splendor, no mild, 
benignant twinkle, to Fanny. She flashed into 
our sky like a meteor, seemingly larger than Jupi- 
ter, and for the moment more ruddy than Yenus, 



FANNY FERN. 61 

more flaming than any planet or fixed star. Or 
perhaps we should liken her to a rocket — going up 
with a great rush and whiz, then paling, dying, 
falling, and finishing up with a loud, angry pop, 
and a sudden shower of little fiery tadpoles, drop- 
ping on the head of her enemies. 

" The ' loud, angry pop ' came with the publica- 
tion of her last work, ' Kuth Hall,' — a book that 
appears to have been exploded in a fit of despera- 
tion, to revive the writer's sinking fame, and to 
revenge herself on her relatives, and everybody 
she imagines ever injured her. Fortunately, the 
rockets' fiery droppings are harmless as moon- 
beams, and there is little but hiss, and whiz, and 
crack, to its anger ; — else some very respectable 
families had been blown to atoms, and entirely 
devoured and eaten up forever by the fiery tad- 
poles. 

11 How we used to admire Fanny ! We never, 
indeed, saw much to love in her writings, but the 
snap, and vigor, and originality of her style, was 
truly refreshing. We could never sufficiently 
praise these qualities in her early sketches. Hei 
power was partly owing to native genius, partly to 
the circumstances of her life. She was a full 
grown woman when she began to write. The age 
of feeble sentimentalism was passed. She had 



62 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

seen the world ; enjoyed society ; known adver- 
sity. She had been twice a wife, and twice a mo- 
ther ; had lost one husband by death, and another 
by — no matter what. In years she was forty ; in 
experience at least a hundred and forty. And all 
this life and knowledge she had kept bottled up, 
like old wine. How it sparkled and foamed when 
the wires were cut and the cork blown out ! She 
poured off those first sketches, bubbling, frothing, 
effervescing, like prime champagne newly opened. 
"Wine of this quality soon deadens ; but Fanny 
kept pouring out, determined to make up in quan- 
tity what was wanting in flavor ; and now — in 
'Kuth Hall' — she has squeezed the bottle and 
flung it at the heads of the public. 

" Speaking of this queer book, the New York 
Courier says, ' If the writer ever showed the manu- 
script to her friends, they acted most cruelly to- 
wards her, in not advising her to throw it into the 
fire.' We think so too. We have never seen so 
sad a revelation of a woman's heart. There are 
some flashes of genius in the book, but there are 
more flashes of that unmentionable fire, supposed 
to be familiar to wicked souls. 

" The principal characters in Euth Hall bristle 
all over with iron spikes of selfishness and cruelty. 
The able critic of the Boston Post declares that 



FANNY FERN. 03 

* art would never admit such stony-hearted mon- 
sters in a story of real life.' Now, ' Kuth Hall ' is 
understood to be an autobiography. That it was 
intended as such by the writer, there can be no 
doubt in the mind of any person who knows her 
and reads her book. Following this view of the 
subject, we have, first and foremost among the 
monsters, Fanny's own father. He is the ' old 
Ellet ' of the story — a man who ' thinks more of 
one cent than of any child he ever had ; ' who 
coldly leaves his daughter and grandchildren to 
suffer almost the extremes of want and privation ; 
who would not, indeed, throw them a crumb, were 
it not that, as a church-member, he has a ' Chris- 
tian reputation to sustain,' and fears public opinion. 
The caricature is gross and awful. Yet it is not 
even a caricature. Fanny (Euth Hall) has daubed 
the hideous picture of an impossible character, and 
scrawled beneath it the angry words, ' This is my 
father I let all the world see and abhor him ! ' 0, 
Goneril ! 0, Eegan ! could woman's hate do more ? 
Oh, dear and sweet revenge upon a parent ! because, 
forsooth, the white-haired old man, who, even now, 
totters daily up his office stairs to earn a livelihood, 
possessed too much calm wisdom to impoverish 
himself in order that she might sit a queen — be- 
cause he deemed it sufficient, in all love and jus- 



64 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

tice, to support her comfortably, as his means 
afforded — because her own indiscretions, and ex- 
travagant and unreasonable demands, had called 
down upon her head deserved severity and reproof 
— this is the fire kindled in her heart ! We are 
sorry to speak in this strain. But if we speak at 
all, we must utter what justice and truth call out 
of us. Even were Mrs. Farrington's charges 
against her father well-founded, we could not but 
cry out in condemnation of the parricidal spirit 
that seeks so devilish a revenge. • 

"Her first husband's father, the late Dr. El- 
dredge, meets with a similar treatment. The grave 
that has closed over him could not shield his breast 
from the tearing claws of the vampire of vengeance. 
He figures as Dr. Hall — just such another unfeel- 
ing, unnatural, impossible monster, as the old man 
Ellet. Mrs. Hall (Fanny's mother-in-law, Mrs. El- 
dredge,) is a slice from the same raw material, with 
the addition of a little feminine salt and pepper. 
Fanny had an opportunity to write something of 
her own spirit in ' Mrs. Hall ' — thus relieving the 
deadness of the character with occasional sparks 
of real human nature. • 

" Mr. 1ST. P. Willis appears in the book as Mr. 
Hyacinth Ellet — ' a mincing, conceited, tip-toeing, 
be-curled ; be-perfumed popinjay.' Like the other 



FANNY FERN. 65 

monsters, he has not a grain of heart in his com- 
position. Such a burlesque of a gentleman so 
well known for his fine qualities of heart and 
mind as Mr. N. P. Willis, is simply disgusting. 
It is too coarse and flat to be tolerated even in a 
farce. 

"Other monsters in the book may be briefly 
alluded to. The Millets are the s, — represent- 
ed as horrid people, of course, being so unfortunate 
as to be related to Fanny. Mr. Lescom, editor of 
the ' Standard,' is the late Mr. Norris, of the 
Olive Branch. The True Flag is personified as 
'Mr. Tibbets.' 

11 Now with regard to the angels in the book. 
First, of course, is Fanny herself. She is 'Euth 
Hall ' — a perfect celestial. We are surprised that 
any person, whose judgment was not altogether 
swallowed up in vanity and egotism, should have 
made so bald and sickening an attempt, at self- 
exaltation. Euth is a model wife, a model mother, 
a model widow, a model saint. She is very beau- 
tiful, and a great genius. There was never a 
woman on earth until Euth was let down out of 
heaven. What a capital joke, that so rare a 
creation should have been born the daughter of 
old Ellet, and the sister of Hyacinth I 

" ' Harry Hall ' is the name given to Fanny's 

5 



66 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

first husband. It is a singular fact, by the way, 
that no allusion is made to her second marriage. 
Why is Mrs. Farrington so anxious to suppress 
the fact, and the subject of her divorce? She 
should not have neglected so good an opportunity 
to give Mr. R, what in the vulgar idiom is termed 
'fits.' 

• "Mr. Horace Gates, Hyacinth's assistant, on the 
'Irving Magazine/ is Mr. J. Parton, late of the 
Home Journal. Mr. Parton has recently written a 
book for Fanny's new publishers, so she thought 
proper to puff him. Mr. P. is a talented writer, 
and may, for aught we know, be an excellent 
man; but he is unfortunate in sitting for the 
portrait of Mr. Horace Gates. We should prefer 
anything rather than praise from such a quarter. 

But of all the overdone specimens of goodness, 
the character of virtuous John Walter is the most 
ridiculous to those who know the original. John 

Walter is laugh, ye gods I and hold your 

sides! — is — but we will spare the poor man's 
blushes. This pure and fragrant gentleman — 
who, by the way, never knew Fanny until after 
the establishment of her reputation, and her 
contract with Derby & Miller, for the publication 
of ' Fern Leaves ' — has since devoted himself to 
her service, contented to lick wl)|t crumbs may 



FANNY FERN. 67 

fall to him from her table, as a reward for his 
brave championship. He ' puts through ' the 
newspaper puffing which heralds her books, acting 
as her counsellor, companion, and gentleman 
friend generally — and so she makes an angel of 
nim out of gratitude. Delicious John Walter ! 

11 The story of Euth Hall is nothing. There is 
no plot whatever ; no thread of interest to hold 
one to its pages. There are some spicy, quite 
Ferny sketches, in the first half of the volume — 
but the rest is all chaff, filled in to swell the covers 
to a respectable capaciousness. Towards the close, 
for want of better matter, we are surfeited with 
letters from people nobody cares anything about, 
and a tedious phrenological examination, designed 
to set off the transcendent mental, moral and 
affectional qualities of that heavenly creature, 
Ruth — alias Fanny ! 

" The book abounds with horrors of cruelty and 
neglect — which all who are aware in what style 
Mrs. Farrington used to live, know to be false — 
until we come to the introduction of good John 
Walter, when everybody commences laughing. 
Indeed, such expressions as 'said Ruth, laughing,' 
' said Mr. Walter, laughing,' ' said Katy, laugh- 
ing,' 'said Ruth, beginning to laugh/ occur ad 
nauseam. Sometimes we have 'said Ruth, smi- 



68 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 

ling,' which, amounts to the same thing. And so 
the book draws to a verbose and feeble close. We 
are glad to have shut it up, never to open it again. 
We love not these bad-hearted books. Let us then 
hasten to take leave of this one, and of Fanny 
Fern, forever. It was no agreeable task we had 
to do, but we have done it conscientiously and 
faithfully ; and here let it end." 



XIII. 

A WORD ABOUT N. P. WILLIS. 

AF the command, "Honor thy father and mo- 
ther," says the Boston Transcript, Ruth Hall 
has been a significant reminder, to those who 
know the excellent man vilified in that novel 
as the heroine's father, and admitted in many 
ways to be intended by "Fanny Fern" as a pic- 
ture of her own father, Mr. Willis. How differ- 
ently he is looked upon by nis other children it is 
a relief to humanity to know, and we are glad to 
be able to copy from the M Youth's Companion," the 
paper whicn Mr. Willis publishes in his declining 
years, the following lines addressed to him by his 
son, N. P. Willis, the brother of "Fanny Fern." 



70 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

TO MY AGED FATHER. 

[on hearing of his recent calamity, in having his office destroys* 
by the late fire in school-street.l 

BY N. P. WILLIS. 

Cares thicken round thee as thy steps grow slow, 

Father beloved ! — not turn'd upon, as once, 

And battled back with steadfastness unmov'd — 

(That battle without fame or trump to cheer — 

That hardest battle of the world — with care — 

Thy life one patient victory till now !) 

Faint has thy heart become. For peace thou prayest— 

For less to suffer as thy strength grows less. 

For, oh, when life has been a stormy wild — 

The bitter night too long, the way too far — 

The aged pilgrim, ere he lays him down, 

Prays for a moment's lulling of the blast — 

A little time, to wind his cloak about him, 

And smooth his gray hairs deeently to die. 

Yet, oh, not vain the victories unsung ! 

Not vain a life of industry to bless. 

And thou, in angel-history — where shine 

The silent self -forgetful who toil on 

For others until death — art nam'd in gold 

In heaven it is known, thou hast done well ! 

But, not all unacknowledg'd is it, here. 

Children thou hast, who, for free nurture, given 

With one hand, while the other fought thy cares, 

Grow grateful as their own hands try the fight. 

And more — they thank thee more ! The name thou leavest 

Spotless and blameless as it comes from thee — 

For this — their pure inheritance — a life 

Of unstained honor gone before our own — 



FANNY FERN. 71 

The father that we love an u honest man" — 
For this, thy children bless thee. 

Cheer thee, then ! — 
Though hopelessly thy strength may seem to fail, 
And pitilessly far thy cares pursue ! 
What though the clouds follow to eventide, 
Which chased thy morn and noon across the sky ! 
From these thy trying hours — the hours when strength, 
Most sorely press'd, has won its victories — 
From life's dark trial clouds, that follow on, 
Even to sunset — glory comes at last ! 
Clouds are the glory of the dying day — 
A glory that, though welcoming to Heaven, 
Illumes the parting hour ere day is gone •. 



XIV. 

IDEAS ABOUT BABIES. 

"PANNY'S sentiments on this subject aie deci- 
dedly contradictory. If one were to read any 
two of her articles, without a definite knowledge 
of her circumstances, they would be at a loss to 
determine whether she is maid or matron. The 
language of the first article which we shall quote 
is certainly very awfo'-motherly. 

"Folly — For girls to expect to be happy without mar- 
riage. Every woman was made for a mother, consequently, 
"babies are as necessary to their c peace of mind,' as health. 
If you wish to look at melancholy and indigestion, look at an 
old maid. If fou would take a peep at sunshine, look in the 
face of a youi^g mother." 

" Now I won't stand that! I'm an old maid my- 
self; and I'm neither melancholy nor indigestible ! 
My 'piece of mind' I'm going to give you, (in a 
minute !) and I never want to touch a baby excepl 



FA NX Y FERN". 73 

with a pair of tongs I ' Young mothers and sun- 
shine ! ' Worn to fiddle-strings before they are 
twenty-five ! When an old lover turns up he 
thinks he sees his grandmother, instead of the 
dear little Mary who used to make him feel as if 
he should crawl out of the toes of his boots! Yes! 
my mind is quite made up about matrimony ; but 
as to the ' babies? (sometimes I think, and then 
again I don't know !) but on the whole I believe I 
consider 'em a d ecided humbug! It's a one- 
sided partnership, this marriage ! the wife casts up 
all the accounts ! 

" ' Husband ; gets up in the morning and pays 
his 'devours 1 to the looking-glass; curls his fine 
head of hair ; puts on an immaculate shirt-bosom ; 
ties an excruciating cravat ; sprinkles his handker- 
chief with cologne ; stows away a French roll, an 
egg, and a cup of coffee ; gets into the omnibus, 
looks slantendicular at the pretty girls, and makes 
love between the pauses of business during the 
forenoon generally. Wife must 'hermetically seal* 
the windows and exclude all the fresh air, (be- 
cause the baby had the 'snuffles' in the night;) 
and sits gasping down to the table more dead than 
alive, to finish her breakfast. Tommy turns a 
cup of hot coffee down his bosom ; Juliana has 
torn off the string of her school-bonnet ; James 
4 



74 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

c wants his geography covered ; ' Eliza can't &wl 
her satchel ; the butcher wants to know if she'd 
like a joint of mutton ; the milkman would like 
his money ; the ice man wants to speak to her 
'just a minute; ' the baby swallows a bean ; hus- 
band sends the boy home from the store to say his 
partner will dine with him ; the cook leaves c all 
flying,' to go to her 'sister's dead baby's wake,' 
and husband's thin coat must be ironed before 
noon. c Sunshine and young mothers I ! ' Where's 
my smelling-bottle ? " 

To the foregoing denunciation of the infant- 
angels, the following defence furnishes quite a 
decided contrast. 

" Baby-carts on narrow side-walks are awful bores, espe- 
cially to a hurried business man." 

" Are they ? Suppose you, and a certain pair 
of blue eyes, that you would give half your patri- 
mony to win, were joint proprietors of that baby! 
/shouldn't dare to stand very near you, and call it 
1 a nuisance.' It's all very well for bachelors to 
turn up their single blessed noses at these little dim- 
pled Cupids; but just wait till their time comes > 
See 'em, the minute their name is written ' Papa, 
pull up their dickies, and strut off down street 



FANNY FERN. 75 

as if the Commonwealth owed them a pension I 
"When they enter the office, see their old married 
partner (to whom babies have long since ceased to 
be a novelty) laugh in his sleeve at the new- 
fledged dignity with which that baby's advent is 
announced! How perfectly astonished they feel 
that they should have been so infatuated as not to 
perceive that a man is a perfect cypher till he is at 
the head of a family ! How frequently one may 
see them now, looking in at the shop windows, 
with intense interest, at little hats, coral and bells, 
and baby -jumpers. How they love to come home 
to dinner, and press that little velvet cheek to 
their business faces ! Was there ever music half so 
sweet to their ear, as its first lisped ' Papa ' f Oh, 
how closely and imperceptibly, one by one, that 
little plant winds its tendrils round the parent 
stem ! How anxiously they hang over its cradle 
when the cheek flushes and the lip is fever- 
parched ; and how wide, and deep, and long a 
shadow in their happy homes, its little grave would 
cast! 

" My dear sir, depend upon it, one's own baby is 
never l a nuisance? Love heralds its birth." 

It's just possible though, that Fanny may be 
actuated by a spirit of sheer contradiction ; for, 



76 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OP 

happening in some of her readings, to come across 
Tupper's declaration, that 

u A babe in the house is a well-spring of pleasure," 

she takes up the gauntlet, and holds forth in the 
following vigorous style: — 

"Now, Mr. Tupper, allow me to ask you, did 
you ever own a baby ? I meant to say, did you 
ever have one ? Because I knew a woman once that 
had ; and shall use the privilege of an American 
' star and stripe'' female, to tell you that that English 
sentiment of yours, won 1 1 pass this side the water 1 

" Ain't we a little the smartest people on the 
face of the earth ? and if any country could grow 
decent babies, wouldn't it be America ? Yes, SIR ! 
but I tell you, it's my solemn conviction that they 
are nothing more nor less than a ' well-spring ' of 
botheration, wherever they are raised. Don't I 
know ? Didn't that shapeless, flimsy, flappy little 
nuisance I allude to, rule the house from garret to 
cellar before it was a month old ? Wasn't it en- 
tirely at its option, whether the mother dined at 2 
o'clock at noon, or 2 at night ? In fact, whether 
she dined at all? Didn't the little wretch keep its 
lack-lustre eyes fixed on her, and the minute she 
turned her back upon it and moved towards the 



FANNY FERN. 77 

door, contrive to poke one eje half out with its 
fist, or get its toes twisted into a knot, or some 
such infantile stratagem to attract attention ? 
Didn't it know, by instinct, whenever she had an 
invitation to ride, or walk, or visit ? and get up a 
fit of sham distress to knock it all in the head? 
Didn't she throw away dozens of pairs of good shoes 
Decause tney creaked ? Did she ever know what 
she wns %u oe a*xOwed to do the next minute ? 

" ■ Well spring of pleasure ! ' Ha ! ha ! Ask her 
husband, Tom I Didn't he have to emigrate up 
two flights of stairs because it screeched so inces- 
santly nights, that it unfitted him for business next 
day ? He's very fond of babies ; HE is ! 

" Well, Mr. Tupper, we won't mention creeping 
time — when skeins of yarn, and pins, and darning 
needles are swallowed, with a horrifying ravenous- 
ness suggestive of a c stomach pump ; ' or its first 
essays at walking, when it navigates the carpet 
like a sailor fresh from ' board ship ; ' raising bumps 
never marked down on any phrenological chart ! 
or clutching at the corner of the tablecloth, drag- 
ging off inkstands, vases, annuals, and ' Proverbial 
PJiilosophys, ' with an edifying promiscuousness I 
Then, making for the open door, and taking a c fly- 
ing leap ' down two pairs of stairs, to the aston- 
ishment of John, Betty and Sally! 



7B LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 

" Now, Mr. Martin Farquhar Tupper, c philoso- 
phize ' as beautifully as only you know how, but 
take an American woman's advice, and don't men- 
tion babies ! unless you'll sketch from life as I do ! 
You needn't stand up for English babies ; they're 
all alike, from Qdeen Victoria's down to Miko 
O'Flaherty's, or up to American babies ! 

M I'm astonished at you, Mr. Tupper ! a poet and 
a HANDSOME poet, too ! I I'm surprised. / am I " 



XV. 

PRAISE FROM A WOMAN. 

"DANNY always was grateful. This well-known 
fact is humorously exemplified in the following 
article, referring to Mrs. H. Marion Stephens. This 
lady, in her " Town-Talk," for the Boston Times, 
made a few graceful allusions to Fanny's wit and 
genius, and this friendly tribute gave birth to 

"MISS FANNY FIDDLESTICK'S SOLILOQUY, 

"ON BEADING A COMPLIMENTARY NOTICE OF HERSELF, BY A LADY. 

11 Praise from a woman ! What did I ever do 
to injure her, I'd like to know ? There's something 
behind that ! If she had abused me now, I should 
have been as placid as an oyster. Here, pussy, 
come taste this cup of tea for me ; I'll give you ten 
minutes to repent of all your feline flirtations, on 
that back shed, with promisJcus Grimalkins; for 



80 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 

ten to one you'll keel over in a fit as soon as 
you've swallowed it. I don't touch it till I know 
whether it's poisoned or not. There's more cats 
than Ferns in the world, and complimentary noti- 
ces from a female woman look suspicious. I shall 
be up and dressed, now I tell you. There's a 
bundle just come in. When I open it alone, I 
guess you'll know it; Pvo heard of infernal ma- 
chines before to-day. I don't touch it off without 
a minister and Marshal Tukey, I promise you. 
Praise from a woman ! Oh, this Fanny isn't ver- 
dant, if she is a Fern ! There's something behind 
it I When a woman pats you with one hand you 
may be morally certain she's going to scratch you 
with the other. Here; — hands off! clear the track 
of all petticoats ! I'm going to the pistol gallery 
to take lessons in shooting. That complimentary 
notice is the fore end of a runner of something." 



XVI. 

THE REMARKABLE HISTORY OF 
JEMMY JESSAMY. 

JEMMY JESSAMY," writes Fanny Fern, "was 
a double-distilled old bachelor. He had occu- 
pied the same quarters at Hotel for five-and- 

twenty years. The chamber-maid that * cleared 
up * No. 25, dared not, at the price of her scalp, 
misplace a boot or a tooth-brush. If his breakfast 
was brought up five minutes before the time, it 
was ordered down again — and woe to the luckless 
waiter who brought him hot water when he spoke 
for cold, or failed to transmit, with telegraphic 
speed, any card or parcel left at the bar. The first 
thing he knew he didn't know nothing. In other 
words, Jemmy saved him the trouble of going 
down stairs, by landing him, 'on his own hook/ 
(nolens volens) in the lower entry. 
"Jemmy took two or three hours to make himself 
6 



82 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

up in the morning, emerging from "bis shell at 
10 o'clock in the forenoon, a perfect Beau Brum- 
mell. The most fastidious taste could detect no 
flaw ; the most critical or censorious eye no fop- 
pery. His figure was matchless, or his tailor, or 
both together ; and his coats always of a shade 
of color unattainable by any one but Jemmy. 
Last, not least, he rejoiced in a set of dickies that 
left him at perfect liberty to look east, west, north 
or south, without cutting his ears off! He never 
appeared in public, ' en dishabille,' either of body 
or mind. Both were, at such times, in their holi- 
day suit. 

" Now it was very selfish in Jemmy to ' waste 
his sweetness on the desert air,' for so many years; 
but he had two good reasons for it. The first was 
that he considered himself too bright a jewel to be 
in the possession of any one woman exclusively. 
The next was, he was terribly afraid of being 
taken in. He never made a call on a single 
woman without taking some male acquaintance 
(not too attractive) to neutralize the force of the 
compliment. A bright eye or a pretty ankle gave 
him spasms. He couldn't live away from their 
owners, and he was afraid to go too near them. 

He was most at his ease in a large family of sis- 
ters, where he could sprinkle about his attentions 



FANNY FERN. 83 

and gallantries in homoeopathic doses ; or in the 
society of married ladies, where a man stands in no 
fear of being asked "his intentions." 

Susy was the bright, particular star in this 

firmament. She was always in choice spirits, spark- 
ling as a bottle of champagne, well-dressed, good- 
tempered, always ready for a drive, a walk, a sail 
or a pic-nic, and always the belle of the party. 

She was visiting at the house of a friend ; and 
Jemmy felt himself so safe there. The newest 
piece of music, the most fragrant of Gibbens' bou- 
quets, the last of Dickens's perpetrations, found 
their way to "Barley Place, No. 5." Susy hemmed 
three splendid neck-ties, with her own fair fingers ; 
mended the little rips in his gloves, (that he had 
amused himself making for her when he sat alone 
in his room,) and told him, confidentially, how to 
trim his moustache and where to lay the pruning- 
knife to his whiskers. Jemmy was a lucky man ! 

" Jem," said Tom Lane, one night, as they sat 
smoking their cigars with their feet ten degrees 
higher than their heads, " how much longer are you 
going to trifle with that little widow ? Why don't 
you ask her and done with it ? " 

11 Widow ! ask her ! done with it ! " said Jem, 
with' a stupid stare, as his cigar fell into the ashes. 
" They said ' her husband was absent/ " 



84 LIFE AND 

" Absent ! Ha ! ha ! his tombstone will tell you 
about that ! " 

" I'm ruined," said Jem, " ruined ! I have driven 
her out ; walked with her, sailed with her, praised 
her eyes and hair, sent her bouquets, and music, 
and poetry ; I've — I've done everything, Tom, 
What's to be done ? I won't be married. I'd as 
lief be hung; " and pronouncing the latter part of 
the word condemnation, rather audibly, he rushed 
into the open air to take breath ! 

The next day the following item appeared in the 
newspapers : 

" Mysterious. — The admirers of James Jessamy, 
Esq., will be pained to learn of his sudden and un- 
accountable disappearance from the Hotel. 

No clue has as yet been discovered of his where- 
abouts. His papers, books and wearing-apparel, are 
in safe keeping for his relatives, and may be had on 
application to Sam Springle, Hotel." 



XVII. 

JEMMY JESSAMY'S DEFENCE. 

TO FANNY FERN.— Miss Fern: Your wanton 
and unprovoked attack upon me, in the last edi- 
tion of the " True Flag," headed " Look before you 
Leap," is a leeile more than I can stand. I should 
like to know what on earth has induced you to ex- 
pend your electricity upon " Jemmy Jessamy, the 
double-distilled bachelor ? " Calling me by name, 
and thus setting me up as a public mark, and pro- 
claiming just the number of years I have boarded 

in " Hotel, No. 25," and then heralding my 

peculiarities in regard to the chamber-maid, has put 
me in no enviable predicament. I begin to think it 
is high time I knew w something." 

My hour for rising, I acknowledge, is ten A. M. 
I am not, then, the perfect " Beau Brummell" you 
have described; for I have never obtruded my 



86 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

calls upon anybody until ten o'clock, by my double 
repeater. Well, if I was skittish about approach- 
ing women, formerly, what must I be now, since 
your virago-tongue has used me up by piecemeal ! 
Talking about my " dickeys " sitting comfortably ! 
What if I do allow myself a commendable latitude 
for turning every way ? When such weather-cocks 
are in the market, it behooves us to " look before 
we leap." Besides, I have never taxed a female 
eye to stitch a dickey, sew on a button, make a shirt, 
or repair an overcoat since I have been in the above 
hotel. My tailor has always been my seamstress : 
and his bills, like some of the married fraternity, 
do not remain unpaid. But what right had you to 
assign my reasons for remaining single, and bestow- 
ing my attentions in " homoeopathic doses upon a 
whole family of sisters ? " 

Then I am served up at " No. 5 Barley 
Place," and a game is made about myself and 
the widow " Susy." I am represented as playing 
the part of a lover, supposing her a married lady. 
She never sewed a rip in my glove, nor cut or 
curled a single hair of my moustaches in her life. 
To be sure, Tom Lane is a joking fellow, and he 
did talk about her husband's tombstone ; but it 
was all gas, and, as I thought, ended in smoke. 

But, last of all, I am described as absconding 



FANNY FERN. 87 

from my hotel. Heavens ! what a tongue you 
have got. Hadn't I a right to go South to cure a 
consumption, without a strange woman's meddling 
about it? While I was there, however, Miss Fan, 
I heard of a place just suited to your capacities. 
An editor advertised for a partner "that could 
write out thunder and lightning at a stroke." I 
thought of you, and added. I knew one that could 
do that, and throw a poweml deluge along with 
it. This is evidently your latitude. People at 
the South indulge in personalities, and then 
challenge each other for a duel. In this way, you 
would be spared many of your random shots. 

The time was, when I seriously thought of the 
subject of marriage. I have bothered over the 
subject, whether women are really what they 
appear, until I am satisfied. If you are an un- 
tamed, undisguised, plain representative of the 
sex, may heaven protect all future Caudles from 
such emblems of affection ! If I am an old 
bachelor, I am determined to wear the breeches 
myself. You need not dream about a codicil 
being attached to my will, — for your last attack 
has completely and forever estranged you from all 
claims, human or divine on 

Jemmy Jessamy. 



XVIII. 

THE GOVERNESS. 

'THE following tale is Fanny Fern's earliesfi 
attempt at a long story, now for the first time 
given to the world within the covers of a book. 

" ' If you please, ma'am, a young woman in the 
hall, dressed in mourning, wishes to speak with 
you/ The lady addressed might have been, (we 
are aware we are treading on debatable ground,) 
about thirty-eight years of age. Time, that had 
spared her the attraction of a graceful, pliant form, 
had robbed her blue eyes of their lustre, and 
thinned her flaxen tresses. She still rejoiced, 
however, in a pair of diminutive feet and ankles, 
which she considered it a great sin to 'hide under 
a bushel,' and had a way of her own of exhibiting 
on all occasions, known only to the ingenuity of a 



FANNY FERN. 89 

practised coquette, or an ex-belle. She raised her 
eyes languidly from the last new novel she was 
perusing, and with the air of a victim closed the 
book, as John ushered in the intruder. 

11 Slightly raising her eyebrows, she said, ' So 
you are the young person who answered my 
advertisement for a governess?' levelling at the 
same time a scrutinizing glance upon her that 
brought the color into her fair cheek. ( In 
mourning, I see; very becoming, but it always 
gives me the dismals to see a black dress about ; 
don't cry, child, people will die when their time 
comes, it's a thing that can't be helped. I suppose 
you understand French, German, Italian, Spanish, 
and all that sort of thing, if you are a governess. 
I desire Meta to be fashionably educated, and if 
you stay, I hope you will understand your busi- 
ness and be thorough, for it is a great bore to me 
to look after such things. I shall want you to 
clear starch my collars and ruffles, and trim my 
breakfast caps ; I see you look as though you 
would object to this, but you wont find such a 
place as this every day, and people who are driven 
to the wall by necessity, and have to get their 
own living, can't afford to be fastidious. Pity 
you are so pretty, child ; never mind, you must 
keep close ; you'll see no company at my house, 



90 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

and I trust you are no gadder. What is your 
name? Grace Clifford? very romantic! Well, 
if you'd like to stay, John will show you to your 
room — but pray put away that mass of curls and 
wear it plain, as it looks too childish for a govern- 
ess. You needn't trouble yourself to dress for 
dinner, as you will eat with Meta in the nursery. 
John ! Show Miss Clifford to her room.' 

" And thither, fair reader, we will follow her. 
Poor Grace ! Left to herself, a sense of her utter 
loneliness overpowered her, and she wept like a 
child. Early left an orphan, dependent through her 
childhood and youth, up to the present time, upon 
relatives who made her feel each day, each hour, 
how bitter was that dependence ; who grudged 
the bread she ate ; who, envious of her beauty and 
superior abilities, constantly made them the sub- 
ject of coarse jests and coarser taunts, Grace gladly 
answered Mrs. Fay's advertisement, hoping for 
relief from the fetters of so galling a chain. Sen- 
sitive to a fault, she had endeavored to nerve her- 
self with strength to endure much that was annoy- 
ing and repulsive in the situation she sought ; but 
the total want of delicacy and courtesy displayed 
by Mrs. Fay, her coarse allusion to her late bereave- 
ment, (the death of a sister,) her ill-concealed envy 



FANNY FERN. 91 

of her personal charms, all combined to depress 
and dishearten her. 

" But Grace Clifford was a Christian. She had 
been early called to suffer ; she knew who had 
mixed for her the cup of life, and she pushed it not 
away from her lips because the ingredients were 
bitter. She knew an ear that was never deaf to 
the orphan's cry, and that the promise ' When 
thy father and mother forsake thee,' was all her 
own to claim ; and she rose from her knees with a 
brow calm as an angel's, a spirit girded for the 
conflict, and a peace that the world knoweth not 
of. 

" Grace's patroness, Mrs. Fay, was the only 
daughter of a petty shop-keeper in the village of 

. Worshipped by doating parents for her 

beauty, of which little now remained, she received 
from them a showy, superficial education, which 
she was taught from childhood to consider valua- 
ble only as a stepping-stone to an establishment in 
life. She contemptuously turned the cold shoulder 
to her rustic admirers, one after the other. How 
this human butterfly succeeded in entrapping a 
matter-of-fact man, like Mr. Fay, is quite unac- 
countable. Be that as it may, the honeymoon saw 
in its decline the death, of his love, and wearied 
with her doll face and vacant mind, he sought, 



92 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

after the birth of his little daughter, his chief plea- 
sure in the nursery, for which she entertained an 
unconquerable aversion. 

"Keader, have you never in a Summer's day 
ramble stopped to admire in some secluded spot a 
sweet flower that had sprung up as if by magic — • 
rich in color, beautiful in form, throwing uncon- 
sciously its sweet fragrance to the winds, unappre- 
ciated, unnoticed, uncared for, save by His eye 
who painted its delicate leaves ? Such a flower was 
Meta Fay. Delicate, fragile as Spring's first vio- 
let, with a brow and eyes that are seldom seen, 
save where death's shadow soonest falls ; and with 
a mind that face belied not, earnest, thoughtful 
and serious. 

11 Eepulsed by her mother, who saw nothing in 
that little shrinking form but a bar to the enjoy- 
ment of her empty pleasures, doated on by a father 
who was the slave of Mammon, and who, unable 
to fathom the soul that looked out from the depths 
of those clear eyes, lavished as a recompense for 
the many unanswered questions prompted by her 
restless mind, the costliest toys of childhood. 
From all these would Meta turn away dissatisfied, 
to clasp to her bosom the simplest daisy that deck- 
ed the meadow, or to hail with rapture the first 
sweet star that came stealing forth at evening. 



FANNY FERN. 93 

"Such was Grace Clifford's pupil. All thought 
of herself was soon lost in the delight of watching 
her young mind develop ; and if a thought of her 
responsibility as its guardian sometimes startled 
her, yet it also made her more watchful, more true 
to her trust. A love almost like that of parent 
and child grew up between them. Often, when 
engaged in their studies, when Meta's love-speak- 
ing eyes were fixed upon her young teacher, and 
the flush upon her delicate cheek was coming and 
vanishing like the shadows of a Summer cloud, 
would Grace tremble for the frail casket that con- 
tained so priceless a gem. 

"Meantime, Mrs. Fay continued her treadmill 
round of visiting, shopping and dressing, occasion- 
ally looking into the nursery, quite satisfied that 
her child was wonderfully improved in beauty, 
and willing to take it for granted everything else 
was as it should be. On one of these occasions 
Meta said, 

" ' Mamma ! Papa and I think Miss Clifford is a 
beauty.' 

" ' Indeed I ' said Mrs. Fay. 

" * Yes, and when I pull out her comb and let all 
her beautiful hair down over her shoulders, papa 
says it looks like waves of gold. ' 



94 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OP 

" Mrs. Fay walked up to her husband and said, in 
a hissing whisper — 

"'So this accounts for the interest you take in 
the child's studies ! In my opinion that Grace 
Clifford, with her sly demure face, is a great flirt 
— I thought she was too pretty when I engaged 
her. l Golden waves ! ' and with a toss of the 
head, be-tokening a domestic thunder-storm, her 
ladyship left the nursery. 

" The next day, as Grace sat busy with her work, 
with Meta beside her, the child suddenly looked 
up and said, 

" ' What is & flirt, Miss Clifford?' 

" Grace was about to burst into a hearty laugh, 
but there was a look almost amounting to distress 
on Meta's face that checked her. 

" { Why do you ask me that question, my pet ?' 

u l Oh ! because mamma told papa yesterday that 
you was a flirt, and I thought — and (the child hesi- 
tated) it meant something naughty, because mamma 
was so angry.' 

" Poor Grace ! The blood rushed in a torrent 
over cheek, neck and brow. Meta, frightened at 
the effect of her question, began to sob as if her 
heart would break, when the door opened, and 
Mr. Fay came in. Grace rushed precipitately past 
him, and gaining her own room, burst into a pas- 



FANNY FERN. 95 

sionate flood of tears. In vain she taxed her 
memory to recall an indiscreet word or action, or 
anything that a jealous wife could construe into an 
invasion of her matrimonial rights. The sin, if 
there was any, was not forthcoming. In vain had 
been all her efforts to propitiate this weak-minded 
woman, by pulling away the obnoxious ringlets, 
by clear starching her muslins, or trimming with 
tasteful fingers her dainty little breakfast caps. 
The serpent had entered Eden ; and although no 
1 forbidden fruit' had been tasted, she none the 
less clearly saw the flaming sword that was to 
drive her thence. Sheltering herself under the 
plea of a violent headache, she excused herself 
from appearing again below, and sat until a late 
hour at night, devising the best mode of leaving, 
as farther stay was impossible in such a humilia- 
ting position. She must go ; that was plain ; — but 
where f 

" Suddenly she was startled from her reverie by 
the sound of hurrying feet in the hall. A quick 
rap at the door, and a summons to Meta's room 
followed. She had been taken suddenly and 
alarmingly ill. Grace forgot everything in anxie- 
ty for her darling, and hastily snatching a dress- 
ing gown, she flew to her room. The poor child 
was tossing restlessly from side to side ; her little 



05 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

hands were hot and burning, and her cheeks crim- 
soned with fever. Mr. Fay hastily resigned her to 
Grace's care, while he went for a physician. 

"With the tenderness of a mother she changed 
the heated pillows, parted the thick curls from her 
little forehead, bathed the throbbing temples, and 
rendered the thousand little nameless services, 
known only to the soft step, quick eye, and deli- 
cate hand of woman. 

" Meanwhile the mother slept quietly in an ad- 
joining room, solacing herself that the doctor 
knew better than she what was best for the child, 
and fearing the effect of night vigils upon her 
complexion. 

" When Mr. Fay returned with the physician, 
Meta had sunk into an uneasy slumber. Kesigning 
her post to him, Grace watched his countenance 
with an anxious eye while he felt the pulse and 
noted the breathing of her little pupil. Writing 
his prescriptions, he handed them to Grace, who 
had signified her intention of spending the night, 
adding as he did so, 

" 'It is needless to enjoin quiet upon one who 
seems so well to understand the duties of a nurse.' 

"With a glance at his child, in which all the 
father was expressed, and a grateful ' God bless 
you' to Grace, Mr. Fay left the room. Shading 



FANNY FERN. 97 

the small lamp, lest it might waken the child, 
Grace unhanded her rich tresses, and loosening 
the girdle of her dressing gown, seated herself 
beside her. 

" Silently, slowly, pass the night watches, in the 
chamber of the sick and dying ! The dull ticking 
of the clock, falling upon the sensitive ear of the 
watcher, strikes to the throbbing heart a nameless 
terror. With straining eye, its hours are counted ; 
with nervous hand, at the appointed time, the 
healing draught is prepared for the sufferer. The 
measured tread of the watchman, as he passes his 
rounds beneath the windows, the distant rumble 
of the stage-coach, perchance the disjointed frag- 
ment of a song from bacchanalian lips, alone break 
the solemn stillness. At such an hour, serious 
thoughts like unbidden guests rush in. Life ap- 
pears like the dream it is ; Eternity the waking ; 
and involuntarily the most thoughtless look up for 
help to Him, by whom ' the hairs of our head are 
all numbered.' 

11 The stars, one by one, faded away in the golden 
light of morning. The sun rose fair to many an 
eye that should never see its setting. Meta was 
delirious. In fancy she roved with her dear 
teacher in green fields, and listened to the sweet 

song of birds, and was happy. 

7 



98 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

" { Do not tell me my darling will die/ said the 
stricken father to the physician ; then turning to 
Grace, he said, almost in the form of a command, 
1 you know how to pray; you taught her the 
way to heaven, when I could not; ask for her life; 
God hears the angels.' 

" l While there is life there is hope/ said the 
sympathizing physician, wiping away a tear ; * all 
that we can do we will, and leave the event with a 
higher power.' 

" Day after day, night after night, regardless of 
food or rest, Grace kept tireless watch by the 
little sufferer; the selfish mother occasionally 
looking in, declaring her inability to stay in a sick- 
room, and expressing her satisfaction that others 
had more nerve than herself for such scenes. 

" That day a new harp was strung, a white robe 
was worn, a new song was heard in heaven. On 
earth, l the child was not ! ' 

" ' Alone again in the world, alone with the dead, 1 
faltered Grace, as she sank insensibly by the little 
corpse. 

" Well was it for the grief-stricken father that a 
new object of solicitude was before him ; well for 
the mother that such devotion to her dead child 
had at last touched a heart so encrusted with 
worldliness. All their united efforts, joined with 



FANNY FERN. 09 

tne skill of the friend and physician, were needed 
to rescue Grace from the grave. To an observing 
eye, the interest the latter evinced for his fair 
patient was not entirely professional. He had 
been touched by her self-sacrificing devotion, and 
her friendlessness, and each day more and more 
charmed with her beauty and simplicity. 

" Softly fell the moonlight on the countless sleep 

ers in the vast cemetery of . Each tiny flowei 

swaying in the night-breeze was gemmed with 
nature's tears. The solemn stillness was unbroken 
save by the sweet note of some truant bird return- 
ing to his leafy home. How many hearts so lately 
throbbing with pain or pleasure lay there forever 
stilled ! There, in her unappropriated loveliness, 
slept the betrothed maiden ; there, the bride with 
her head pillowed on golden tresses whose sunny 
beauty e'en the great spoiler seemed loth to 
touch ; the dimpled babe that yesterday lay warm 
and rosy in its mothers breast; the gray -haired 
sire, weary with life's conflict, the loving wife 
and mother in life's sweet prime, deaf to the wail 
of her helpless babe and to the agonized cry of 
its father ; the faithful pastor, gone at last to hear 
the * Well done, good and faithful servant ;' the 
reckless youth, who with brow untouched by care, 



100 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

and limbs fashioned for strength and beauty, had 
rushed unbidden into the presence of his Maker, 
impatient for the summons of the ' great Keaper.' 
On his tombstone, partial friends had written, ' he 
sleeps in Jesus,' while underneath, (in ' the hand- 
writing on the wall ') methought I could read, 

* no murderer hath eternal life.' 

" There lay the miser, who only in death's 
agony loosened his hold of his golden god. The 
widow he has made houseless, and her shivering 
orphans, read the mocking falsehood on the splen- 
did marble that covers him, and murmur in words 
that are God's own truth, ' It is easier for a camel 
to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich 
man to enter into the kingdom of God.' 

" With a saddened heart I turn to inhale the 
sweet breath of the flowers planted by the hand 
of affection, or strewn in garlands with falling 
tears over the loved and lost. Before me, shining 
in the moonlight, is a marble tablet ; on it I read, 

* Our Utile Meta. 1 I advance toward it ; suddenly 
I see a female figure approaching, looking so 
spiritual in the moonlight — with her snowy robe 
and shining hair — that I could almost fancy her 
an angel guarding the child's grave. She advanced 
toward it, and kneeling, presses her lips to the fra 
grant sod, saying in a voice of anguish, 



FANNY FERN. 101 

" ' Would to God I had died for thee, my child, 
my child I ' 

"A kind friend had followed Grace's footsteps. 
A rich, manly voice is borne upon the air. It 
shall fall like dew upon the stricken flower. Listen 
to the chant ! 

1 There is a Reaper whose name is Death, 

And with his sickle keen, 
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath ; 

And the flowers that grow between. 

' He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, 

He raised their drooping leaves, 
It was for the Lord of Paradise 
He bound them in his sheaves. 

1 Oh not in cruelty, not in wrath, 

The Reaper came that day; 
'Twas an angel visited the green earth 

And took those flowers away. ; 

" A holy calm has settled upon the face of the 
mourner. Noiselessly she retraces her steps, and 
as she glides away, I hear her murmur, in a voice 
of submission : 

c Oh ! not in cruelty, not in wrath 
The Reaper came that day, 
Twas an angel visited the green earth 
And took my flower away/ 



102 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 

" The splendid mansion of the physician had for 
its mistress the orphan governess. The world, 
with its sycophantic smile, now flatters, where it 
once frowned. Both are alike to Grace, who has 
given her warm heart, ' till death do us part,' to 
one who knows well how to prize the gift." 



XIX. 

ALL ABOUT SATAN. 

"PANNY says herself, she "knows all about 
him." Now who in the world so fit to deliver a 
discourse on the subject, as so intimate an acquaint- 
ance ? Beside, we have seen already that Fanny 
is in the habit of writing about her friends. 
Satan might think it a little unjust to be held 
responsible for babies and women's rights move- 
ments, but Fanny knows best, so here follows her 
sermon, text and all : — 

" Satan finds some mischief still 
For idle hands to do." 

" To be sure he does! I know all about him! 
There's no knowiDg what would happen, if the 
houses now-a-days were not filled up, one half 
with babies and the other half with old stockings ! 



104 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

Then a man can tell pretty near, what his wife is 
about ! — sure to find her, year in and year out, in 
that old calico wrapper, in that old ricketty 
rocking-chair, with the last new twins in her arms, 
when he wants a button sewed on his coat to go 
to the opera. No other way, you see I 

" Women are getting altogether too smart nowa- 
days ; there must be a stop put to it ! people are 
beginning to get alarmed ! I don't suppose there 
has been such a universal crowing since the 
roosters in Noah's ark were let out, as there was 
among the editors when that ' Swisshelm ' baby 
was born ! It's none of my business, but it did 
seem to me rather a circular singumstance, that she 
should be cut short in her editorial career that 
way ! I suppose, however, that baby will grow 
out of her arms one of these days, spite of fate ; 
and then, if there's no providential interposition, she 
may resume her pen again. Well, I hope it will 
be a warning / the fact is, women have no business 
to be crowding into the editorial chair. Supposing 
they know enough to fill it (which I doubt 1 hem !) 
they oughter c hide their light under a b ' — aby ! 

"I tell you, editors wonh stand it, to have their 
masculine toes trod on that way. They'll have to 
sign a c quit claim ' to their ' dickeys ' by and 
by ! I wonder what the world's coming to ! 



FANNY FERN. 105 

What do you suppose our forefathers and fore- 
mothers would say, to see a woman sitting up in 
the editorial chair, as pert as a piper, with a pen 
stuck behind her little ears? phew! I hope 7 
never shall see such a horrid sight l" 



XX. 

WELL-KNOWN CHAECTEES. — BY FAN- 
NY FERN. 

MISS CHAEITY OR ACKBONE was a spinster ; 
not that she ever ' spun street yarn.' Oh no ! 
but she spun tremendous long ' yarns ' with her 
tongue, and had spun out forty years of her life in 
single blessedness, in a shop at the corner of Pin 
Alley, where you could purchase, for a considera- 
tion, gingerbread and shoe-blacking, hooks-and- 
eyes and cholera pills, razors and sugar candy, 
crackers and castor-oil, head-brushes and butter, 
small tooth combs and molasses. 

" Not having sufficient employment in supenn 
tending her own affairs, she very philanthropically 
undertook to manage those of her neighbors ; and, 
like all persons of weak intellect, had an astonish- 
ing memory for little things ; could tell you the 
very hour, of the very day, of the very week, and 



FANNY FE EN. 107 

month, and year, you were born ; how long you 
were employed in cutting your first tooth, what 
tailoress had the honor of introducing you into 
jacket and trowsers, and when you put on your 
first long-tail coat. 

"Miss Charity's 'outward man' was not re- 
markably felicitous ; her figure much resembling a 
barber's pole in its proportions. She generally 
preferred dresses of the flabbiest possible material, 
and a very tight fit ; so that her projecting bones 
were no mystery, and as the skirt lacked two or 
three inches of reaching the ground, it revealed a 
pair of feet and ankles evidently intended more for 
use than ornament. Her hair was the color of a 
dirty blanket, and her eyes bore a strong resem- 
blance to a drop of indigo in a pan of buttermilk. 

"'Good morning, Charity/ said a fellow gossip ; 
( such a budget of news ! ' 

11 Charity dropped her knitting-work, seized one 
chair for her visitor, and placed herself on another 
in front of her, with both elbows on her knees, and 
her face as near Miss Pettingill's as possible, lest 
she should lose a word ; exclaiming, 

"'For the land's sake, make haste and begin. 
Who did what ? The cat's tail pointed north this 
morning, and I knew it was the fore-end of a runner 
of something.' 



108 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

" 1 1 declare, I don't know which end to begin, v 
said Pettingill ; c such a piece of work ! This is a 
wicked, abominable world, Charity. You know 
that Mrs. Clark ? ' 

"' Land alive! don't I though? Wasn't I the 
first one to tell that her husband ran off and left 
her; and that she was a flirt and extravagant? 
Not that I knew she was, myself, but I heard tell 
so, and what you hear said is most always true. 
Besides, she's pretty, and that's always against a 
woman, as you and I know, Pettingill. Who ever 
heard any body talk against us t ' and she set her 
arms a-kimbo as if ' pistols for two ' would be sent 
for, if they did ! l Well, what has the creature 
done now, Pettingill ? ' 

" * Why, you know she boards at Deacon Eph- 
raim Snow's — I wonder at his having her in his 
house, and he a deacon too. But you know Mrs. 
Clark has 'mazin pretty ways with her, and she's 
got round him somehow. Well, you know I do 
washing for his wife, and speaking of that, she's 
horrid stingy of her soap. Well, t'other day she 
sent me up garret, as it rained, to hang up the 
clothes, and as I went by Mrs. Clark's room, it 
struck me I'd just peep into the key-hole and listen 
a bit.' Here Charity drew up her chair so close 



FANNY FERN. 109 

that the tips of their noses met ; saying, in a hoarse 
whisper, 

11 ' What did you see ? ' 

"'La! don't frighten me so,' said Pettingill; 
1 your eyes look like a cat's in the dark 1 I saw a 
very fine-looking gentleman — ' 

11 ' I'll warrant itf said Charity, with a triumph- 
ant chuckle. 

" ' And I heard him say, ' Edith, dear — ' 

Here Charity pushed back her chair and rolled 
up the whites of her eyes like a duck in a thunder- 
storm. 

11 ' Edith dear,' says he, ' rely upon me ; nevei 
heed these slanderous stories ; I will be your pro- 
tector.' There, Charity, what do you think of 
that?' 

" c She is a church-member,' said Charity, 
thoughtfully, 'isn't she? keep quiet and watch 
her, the hypocrite ! Did you say anything about 
it to Mrs. Snow, or the deacon ! ' 

" ' Not I,' said Pettingill; ' it would have fetched 
me out, you know, for listening; but I'm convinced 
the man has a c canister ' motive in going there.' 

" ' Sinister/ said Charity, reprovingly, who con- 
sidered herself a scholar. 

" 'Well, canister or sinister, it makes no difference 
to me, 1 said Pettingill. ' I know what /think of 



no 

her. It's no use talking to the Snow's ; they won't 
believe anything against her/ 

" * That's very true/ said Mrs. Snow, who had 
entered unperceived, and heard a great part of 
their conversation. ' Mrs. Clark has been with us 
six months, and is blameless and correct in her 
deportment. She has been shamefully ill-treated 
and slandered by her husband, as /know, and the 
gentleman about whom you were getting up such 
a fine story is her brother, who has just returned 
from Europe. When he said he 'would protect 
her,' he intended to be as good as his word ; and 
for your own sakes I would advise you to bear it 
in mind. I have the pleasure to wish you both 
good-morning.' 

" ' There's a tempest in a thimble/ said Charity, 
as she drew a long breath. 

" < Ain't it, though ! ' said Pettingill. ' But I'll 
warrant we shall catch her tripping yet. These 
* grass widows,' you know.' 

" ' Yes,' said Charity — ' and so pretty, too. I 
never saw a pretty woman that behaved herself." 



H 



XXI. 

HORACE MANN'S 

OKACE MANN, in his lecture on " Woman," 
says : "I see but one reason why woman 
should not preach the gospel, and that reason is, 
that it is ten thousand times better to go about 
'practising the gospel, than even to preach it." 

" On this hint," Fanny characteristically waxes 
eloquent. 

"I'm perfectly ready to close my female eyes 
now I Here's justice meted out to our suffering 
sex at last, and by a Man-n, too ! Nobody can 
disturb the serenity of my soul to-day. I feel like 
a crowned martyr ; could shake hands with every 

enemy I have except ! Anybody any ' little 

favors ' to ask, now is their time ! If my bonnet 
wasn't bran new, I'd toss it up till it got hitched 



112 

on the horn of some celestial dilemma. Wonder 
if all those democrat cannons are used up ? It's 
outrageous there's no way provided for a woman 
to express her surplus enthusiasm. If I roll up 
my eyes, it may suggest a pitcher of water in my 
face ; hysterics would but feebly express my emo- 
tions ; (besides, I don't know how they are got up) 
no use in fainting unless there's somebody ' worth 
while ' at hand to bring you to. What's to be 
done? I'll borrow a 'True Flag,' and hoist it. 
I'll go into the woods and shout huzza ! Never 
mind whether he's married or single — he's too 
much of a curiosity for a monopoly. Barnum must 
have him; he belongs to the world in general. 
He's booked for immortality ! Napoleon, and 
Hannibal, and Caesar weren't a circumstance ! 
Just think of Horace Mann's moral courage in pro- 
pagating such an unpopular sentiment! I shall 
have to get out a Fern dictionary. Can't find 
words to express my tumultuous emotions ! " 



XXII. 

WHAT FANNY THINKS OFHOT 
WEATHER. 

C HADRACH, Meshek, and Molock ! how hot it 
^ is ! I pity omnibus horses and ministers ; I 
pity the little victims of narrow benches and shor*t 
recesses ; I pity ignorant young mothers with 
teething babies ; I pity the Irish who huddle in a 
cellar and take boarders in each corner ; I pity 
consumptive semptresses who " sing the song of 
the shirt " for six cents per day ; I pity dandies 
with tight boots; I pity cooks and blacksmiths, 
and people ; I pity anybody who 

doesn't livt .11 a refrigerator, and hasn't a Fan to 
temper the air. 
8 



XXIII 



FAMILY JAKS. 



HTHIS is a subject on which Fanny ought to speak 
feelingly. Her article thus entitled, is, however, 
full of funny hits, doubtless much like the roses 
which crown the skeleton, or the smiles which 
hide the heart-ache. Poor Fanny ! 

" Domestie peaee can never be preserved in family jars." 

Mr. Jeremiah Stubbs was rash enough to remark, 
one morning, to his wife Keziah, " that, after all, 
women had little or nothing to do ; that he only 
wished she knew the responsibilities of a man of 
business." (Jeremiah kept a small shop, well 
stocked with maple sugar, suspicious looking 
doughnuts, ancient pies and decayed lemons.) — 
"Yes, Keziah, if you only knew the responsibili- 



FANNY FERN. 115 

ties of a man of business, 1 said Jeremiah, fishing up 
the corner of his dickey from a questionable look 
ing red neckerchief that protected his jugular. 

" ' Well, let me know 'em, then,'' said his wife, 
tying on her bonnet. ' Seeing is believing. "We 
will change works for one day. You get break- 
fast, tend the baby, and wash and dress the other 
three children, and I'll go down and open shop.' 

"Jeremiah didn't exactly look for this termina- 
tion to the discussion ; but he was a man, and of 
course never backed out ; so he took a survey of 
the premises, wondering which end to begin, 
while Keziah went on her way rejoicing, took 
down the shutters like a master-workman, opened 
shop, made a fire, arranged the tempting wares 
above mentioned, with feminine ingenuity ; put- 
ting the best side of everything uppermost, and 
wishing she had nothing else to do, from day to 
day, but stand behind the counter and sell them. 

" This accomplished, she went home to breakfast. 
There sat Jeremiah, in a chair, in the middle of 
the room, with one side of his beard shaved off, 
and the lather drying on the remainder, trotting a 
little blue-looking wretch, in a yellow flannel 
night-gown, who was rubbing some soft ginger- 
bread into his bosom with his little fists, by way 
of amusement. The coffee had boiled over into 



116 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

the ashes, and Thomas Jefferson and Napoleon 
Buonaparte Stubbs were stirring up the miniature 
pond with Jeremiah's razor. James Madison was 
still between the sheets, vociferating loudly for 
1 his breakfast.' 

" Looking with a curious eye over the pile of 
scorched toast for a piece that was eatable, Keziah 
commenced her breakfast, referring her interesting 
young family to their paternal derivative for a 
supply of their numerous wants. At last he 
placed a cup of muddy coffee before him, con- 
gratulating himself that his labors were ended, 
when the baby, considering it an invasion of his 
rights, made a dive at it, and he sprang from his 
chair with the scalding contents dripping from 
his unwhisperables, and — a word that church- 
members don't use — hissing from between his 
teeth. 

" Calm as a summer morning, Keziah replaced 
her time-worn straw upon her head, telling Jerry 
that her children must be prepared for school at 
nine o'clock, the room must be swept and righted, 
the breakfast things washed, the potatoes boiled, 
and the mince-meat prepared for dinner by twelve. 
Her husband grinned a ghastly smile, and told 
her 'that was easy done.' ISTo such thing. The 
comb could'nt be found ; he had to wipe James 



FANNY FERN. 117 

Madison's presidential phiz-mahogany on the cor- 
ner of the table-cloth. Napoleon Buonaparte's 
pinafore had been used to wipe the dishes ; Thomas 
Jefferson had rejoiced twice in a pair of boxed 
ears, for devouring the contents of the sugar- 
bowl ; and that little yellow flannel night-gown 
was clutching at his heels, every step he took over 
the floor. 

" Miserable Jeremiah ! did'nt you wish you were 
a woman ? Well, ' time and tide wait for no 
man.' Twelve o'clock came, and so did Keziah. 

Her husband would rather have seen the ■ ■ 

hem I The bed was unmade, the children's hair 
stood up ' seven ways of a Sunday,' the cat was 
devouring the meat, the baby had the chopping- 
knife, and Napoleon Buonaparte was playing ball 
with the potatoes. 

" Jeremiah's desire for immediate emancipation 
overcame his pride, and passing his arms half-way 
around Keziah's waist, (it was so large that he 
always made a chalk mark where he left off em- 
bracing, that he might know where to begin 
again,) he told her she was an angel, and he was a 
poor miserable wretch, and was ready to acknow- 
ledge his mistake. Keziah very quietly withdrew 
from his arm, told him the bargain was made for 
the day, and she would change works at night; 



118 LIFE 

and treating herself to a piece of bread and butter, 
she departed. Jerry sat for a minute looking into 
the fire, then reaching down a huge parcel of 
maple-sugar, he put it on the floor, and seating all 
the young hopefuls round it, turned the key on 
them and the scene of his cares, mounted his 

beaver on his aching head, and rushed to 's 

for a whiskey punch! The room was nice and 
tidy, the fire was comfortable, the punch was 
strong, and Jeremiah was weak. He woke about 
dark, from troubled dreams of broomsticks and 
curtain lectures, and not having sufficient courage 
to encounter their fulfilment, has left Keziah 
to the glorious independence of a * California 
widow. 1 " 



XXIV. 

TWO IN HEAVEN. 

THE following sketch has been pronounced by a 
talented Boston editor, to be the finest and sweet- 
est article Fanny Fern ever penned. The very 
thought might well have served as inspiration. 
What roof-tree where the tears have not fallen? 
What household that counts not part of its number 
by tomb-stones ? 

"Two in heaven. — 'You have two children,' 
said I. 

" * I have four,' was the reply ; ' two on earth, 
two in heaven.' 

" There spoke the mother ! Still hers ! only 
'gone before!' Still remembered, loved and cher- 
ished, by the hearth and at the board ; their places 
not yet filled ; even though their successors draw 



120 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC 



life from the same faithful breast where their dying 
heads were pillowed. 

" l Two in heaven ! ' 

" Safely housed from storm and tempest ; no sick- 
ness there ; nor drooping head, nor fading eye, nor 
weary feet. By the green pastures ; tended by the 
Good Shepherd, linger the little lambs of the heav- 
enly fold. 

" ' Two in heaven ! ' 

" Earth less attractive i Eternity nearer ! Invi- 
sible cords, drawing the maternal soul upwards. 
' Still small ' voices, ever whispering come ! to the 
world-weary spirit. 

" ' Two in heaven ! ' 

" Mother of angels ! "Walk softly ! holy eyes 
watch thy footsteps ! cherub forms bend to listen ! 
Keep thy spirit free from earth-taint ; so shalt 
thou ( go to them,' though they may not ' return to 
thee.* " 



XXV. 

THE PRIVATE HISTORY OF DIDYMUS 
DAISY, ESQ . — B Y FANNY FERN. 

MRS. DAISY styled herself a pattern wife; a 
bright and shining light in the matrimonial 
firmament. She had inscribed on her girdle these 
words, from John Milton, or Mother Goose, I for- 
get which : ' He for God only, she for God in him? 
" She never laced her boots without asking her 
husband's advice, and the length of her boddice, 
or the depth of her flounces, were dependent upon 
his final decision. She went into strong convul- 
sions at sight of a ' Bloomer,' and rolled up the 
whites of her eyes, like a duck in a thunderstorm, 
at the mention of the ( Woman's Rights' Conven- 
tion,' and considered any woman who persisted in 
loving white bread, when her husband ate brown, 

as only fit for the place where air-tight stoves 

6 



122 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

and furnaces are unnecessary ! Her voice was soft 
and oily ; she never spoke above her breath, and 
her motions were slow, funereal and perpendicular. 

" And now I suppose you imagine Didymus was 
master of his own house ! Deuce a bit of it! 
There was a look in the corner of his wife's eye 
that was as good as a loaded musket, and he 
fetched and carried accordingly, like a trained 
spaniel, tiptoeing through life on a chalk-mark, 
and precious careful at that ; confining his observa- 
tion of the world to the latitude and longitude 
of her apron-strings. But it was always 'hus- 
band,' and £ dear Daisy,' even when he knew his 
life wasn't worth two cents if he abated one jot or 
tittle of his matrimonial loyalty. 

"It was very refreshing to hear her ask him ' his 
opinion ' in company, and his diplomatic windings 
and twistings on those occasions were worthy of 
the wiliest politician that ever flourished at the 
' White House.' As to speaking to any other 
female than Mrs. Daisy, ' he would as soon have 
ordered his own coffin ; and, truth to tell, this was 
where the matrimonial yoke weighed the heaviest, 
for Didymus (unlucky wretch) had an eye for a 
dainty waist or a pair of falling shoulders, or a 
light, springing step ; but the wav he had to 



FANNY FERN. 123 

1 shoulder! march /' when they 'hove in sight,' 
was crucifying to his feelings ! 

11 Mrs. Daisy always went with him, to and from 
the store, for ' exercise? (?) He was never allowed 
to go out after dark ; his evenings being mainly 
occupied in holding skeins of silk, or sorting knots 
of ' German Worsted,' to give his wife an opportu- 
nity to immortalize her genius in transforming the 
same into hump-backed dogs, deformed lambs and 
rabbits, with ears twice as long as their bodies. 
Under such watchful guardianship he was in a fair 
way to be able to omit entirely at his orisons, this 
petition — ' Lead us not into temptation.' 

"This hymeneal strait-jacket was more particu- 
larly affecting, inasmuch as Mrs. Daisy herself was 
not what her name would seem to suggest, saving 
that she was very red. It was the problem of her 
life to find dresses and hats that ' agreed with her 
complexion,' and she might well have exclaimed 
* how expensive it is to be ugly. 1 

"Well, 'it's a long lane that has no turning; ' 
and so Didymus thought, when he woke up one 
fine morning and found himself a widower ! Did 
you ever see a poor robin let loose from a cage ? 
or a mouse released from the clutches of grimal- 
kin ? or a kitten emancipated from an easy-chair, 
where she had been mistaken for a cushion by 



124 

some fat old lady of about two hundred, weight ? 
Well — I say nothing ! The satisfaction with which 
Didymus ordered his * weeds/ spoke for itself ! In 
His mental rainbow, black was hereafter to be 
* couleur de rose/ ' He purchased Mrs. Daisy a nice 
coffin, and a strong one ; and his speech to Miss 
Maria Fitz Bumble was cut and dried, and ready 
for delivery as soon as he had safely planted his 
first Daisy in the earth ! 

" Didymus was a man again ! He dared to look 
himself in the face ! He stood up straight, and, 
clapping his hand on his waistband, exclaimed — 
c Daisy, this is living, old boy ! ' Julius Caesar ! 
what ails the man, as he turns his horrified gaze 
towards the bed ! 

" ' There — there ! that '11 do I ' said Mrs. Daisy. 
1 Don't make a donkey of yourself, Didymus, be- 
cause that is unnecessary ! I was only in a faint, 
my dear ! A feint — ha ! ha ! I think I under- 
stand you now, from Genesis to Eevelations. That 
black coat's a good fit; — very becoming, too ! Maria 
— Fitz — B-u-m-b-l-e-e ! ! There, that'll DO, Didy- 
mus. Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm just as good 
as new ! ' " 



XXVI. 

THE WEDDING DRESS. 

r TNDER this title appeared in the columns of the 
True Flag, one of Fanny's most effective 
sketches. Thus ran the tale i- 5 - 

u c Good-bye, dearest mother, 5 said Emma, as she 
pressed her lips to her forehead. ' Let me bring 
your foot-stool and your spectacles before I go. 
"We shall have a lovely drive, and I'll not stay 
after nightfall.' 

" As she listened to the sound of the retreating 
wheels, Mrs. Leland said to herself, ' I'm selfish 
to be unwilling to part with Emma, but she is so 
good and so beautiful. Her presence is like a ray 
of sunshine ; my room seems so dark and cheer- 
less when she leaves me ; and yet it will not be 
long that I can watch over her ; and when these 



126 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

dim eyes are closing, it will be a comfort to know 
that she has a protector and a husband.' 

" Mrs. Leland was a widow — that name always 
suggestive of desolation, want and sorrow. Her 
husband, however, had left herself and Emma 
enough to keep them from suffering, and the latter 
had made her musical talents available in driving 
poverty from the door 

"About a year before the date of my story, 
Emma had met with Lionel. Of prepossessing ex- 
terior and polished manners, the young merchant 
had made himself a welcome guest at the quiet 
fireside of the widow. Thoughtful and attentive 
to Mrs. Leland, he had already yielded her the de- 
votion of a son. She was alone most of the day, 
but when Emma returned to her at night, with 
her tasks completed, and they were seated around 
their little table, and Emma herself prepared the 
nice cup of tea that was to refresh her invalid 
mother, and evening came, and with it Lionel, 
with his bright, handsome face, and winning smile 
and soft low tones; how quickly the hours fled 
away! And now she was soon to be his bride. 
Their cottage home in the outskirts of the city 
was already chosen, and thither they had gone to 
make arrangements for their removal. And who 
so happy as the lovers, that long, bright, summer 



FANNY FEEN. 127 

afternoon ? The little cottage rooms were care- 
fully inspected ; the pretty rosebush was trained 
anew over the low door-way, and the gardener 
had especial orders to take care of the nice flower- 
beds and gravel walks. Amid the last sweet carol 
of the birds, when the flowers, heavy with the 
falling dew, were drowsily nodding their heads, 
and the first bright star of evening was timidly 
stealing forth ; in the dim, fragrant twilight, again 
and again they exchanged new vows of love. 

11 When Emma remembered the dull and cheer 
less past, life seemed now to her a fairy dream ; 
she trembled to be so happy. Then a dark shadow 
would pass before her eyes, and she would say, 
shudderingly, * What if a change should come 1 ' but 
she looked in Lionel's face, and remembered it no 
more. 

" Home was gained at last, Lionel assisted his 
fair companion to alight ; she sprang gaily up the 
steps, and was turning to wave her hand to him 
as he left, when she saw a man step up to him, 
lay his hand familiarly on his shoulder, and, taking 
the reins in his own hands, drive off. Supposing 
him to be some friend, or business acquaintance, 
she thought no more of it, and passed into the 
house. 

u l It is needless to ask you if you have enjoyed 



128 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

your ride, my daughter/ said Mrs. Leland, looking 
with a mother's admiration at the bright flush on 
her cheek, and her sparkling eye. 

" ' Oh ! it was so delightful, mother, at the cot- 
tage ; and we shall be so happy there,' said the 
fair girl, as she laid aside her pretty hat and shook 
from their confinement her long, bright tresses. 
Then, seating herself at the window, she com- 
menced embroidering a part of her wedding dress. 

" Soon after, a stranger called to see Mrs. Leland 
on business ; and Emma withdrew to their little 
bed-room. She was sitting there, busy with her 
work ; a song, sweet as a bird's carol trembled on 
her lips, when Mrs. Leland returned. 

" < Emma ! ' 

" She turned her head to see her mother's face 
overspread with the pallor of death. Springing 
to her side, she said, ' Mother ! dear mother ! who 
has dared? what has troubled you? who is this 
stranger ? ' 

" Her mother pointed to the wedding dress, 
saying, (as if every word rent her heart-strings,) 

" 'Emma, you'll never need that I Lionel is 
arrested for forgery.' 

u 1 5rpj s £ a j ge | > ji] mma W ould have said, but the 
words died on her lips, and she fell heavily to the 
floor. 



FANNY FERN. 129 

" One fainting fit succeeded another through 
that long, dreary night, till life seemed almost sus- 
pended. Morning came, and woke the sufferer to 
consciousness. Passing her hand slowly across 
her forehead, as if still bewildered, and unable to 
realize the dreadful change that had passed over 
her, she said, 

" ' Mother, I must go to Lionel ! ' 

" ' No, no,' said Mrs. Leland, ' 'tis no place for 
you, Emma.' 

11 Covering her face, as if to shut out some 
dreadful vision, she said, ' I care not where I find 
him, mother ! I must go or die. Would you kill 
your child ? ' 

11 The succeeding day found her at the prison 
door. As the key grated in the lock for her ad- 
mittance, she shuddered and hung back ; but it 
was only for an instant. Nerving herself, as by a 
strong effort, she advanced and threw herself, 
fainting, upon Lionel's breast. As the jailer came 
towards her, Lionel started to his feet, and with a 
fierce gesture, motioned him off. Pressing his lips 
to her cold forehead, he said to himself, ' If she 
would but pass away thus V But death comes 
not at the bidding of the wretched, and there she 
lay, that young, fair thing, with her beautiful head 
bowed with grief and shame; still loving, stilJ 
9 



130 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

trusting, through dishonor and pain, with the 
strong, deep love of a woman's heart. Even the 
stern jailer, though inured to scenes of human suf- 
fering, brushed away the tears with his rough hand 
from his furrowed cheeks, and said, * God be mer- 
ciful.' 

"Few words were spoken by either, and the 
allotted hour passed by. One long embrace — and 
the wretched man was again alone in his cell, with 
an accusing conscience ; the darker, the gloomier 
for the angel-light that was withdrawn. 

" And Emma ! She was borne back again to 
the arms that had pillowed her infancy, and laid 
her head upon her mother's breast like a tired 
child. The agony of that hour had done the work 
of years. The rose had faded from the cheek, the 
eyes were dim and lustreless. She only said, ' i'ra 
weary? 

" And so weeks passed by. Nothing interested 
her, nothing seemed to rouse her from her apathy. 
At length news reached them of Lionel's escape ! 
The change in Emma was instantaneous. Her 
manner became excited, nervous and hurried ; she 
passed about the house arranging everything to 
the best advantage, as if expecting some friend or 
guest. 

" One stormy night they sat at their little table, 



FANNY FERN. 131 

each busy with their own sad memories. The 
wind wailed dismally, and the beating rain had 
driven every living thing to seek a shelter. Mrs. 
Leland spoke of the fury of the storm, and Emma 
glanced toward the window. A dark face was 
prest close against it I Those eyes! (she passed 
her hand across her own, as if to clear her vision,) 
those eyes were Lionel's ! Tottering as if bent by 
age, she staggered towards the door, and in a mo- 
ment they were in each other's arms. What a 
night of fear, and horror, and joy was that! for 
he must away before the day should dawn. 

" ' Then you go not alone,' said Emma; 'if you 
have sinned you have also suffered. 1 

" ' Yes, and it's but right he should,' said a 
rough voice, as the door was rudely burst, and a 
stout man advanced to make him prisoner. 

"Lionel had prepared himself for this. A flash ! 
a report ! the lovers lay side by side. They were 
both prisoners, but Death was the jailer ! " 







XXVII. 

IS IT BEST TO USE ENVELOPES? 

N this question hear Fanny ! 



" Mrs. Joseph Smith was the envy of all the 
wives in the neighborhood. Such a pattern hus- 
band as Smith was, to be sure ! He never went 
across the room without hugging his wife first, 
and language would fail to describe their melan- 
choly partings when he ' tore himself away/ to 
go down to the store. If the wind got round 
east after he had left, he always ran back to tell 
her to put on an extra petticoat; he cut up her 
food in homoeopathic infinitessimal bits, to assist 
her digestion, and if she wanted an ice-cream or a 
lobster-salad in the middle of the night, it was 
forthcoming. Did she have j the headache, the 
blinds were closed, the bell was muffled, and he 
was the most wretched of Smiths till she was 



FANNY FERN. 133 

convalescent. He selected her shoe-strings and 
corset-lacings himself, and when her health was 
too delicate to admit of her accompanying him 
to church, he always promised to sit in the mid- 
dle of the house, so that in case the galleries 
should fall he needn't be made any flatter than 
he was by nature. 

" The present Mrs. Smith was his fourth wife, 
and as Joseph had been heard to say, that ' the 
more he loved his Elenore, the more he loved 
his Nancy, and the more he loved his Nancy, the 
more he loved his Julia and Mary,' any one 
with half an eye, could see how peculiarly feli- 
citious Mrs Mary Smith's position must be ! 

" There never was a sweet without a bitter ; 
and so she found out, when Joseph announced 
to her that he 'must leave the little heaven of 
her smiles, to go on a short { business trip.' Mary 
went into the strongest kind of hysterics, and 
burnt feathers and sal- volatile couldn't bring her 
out of them, till he swore on the dictionary to 
telegraph to her every hour, and carry his life 
preserver and a box of Russia salve. 

" On arriving at the depot, a gentleman re- 
quested leave ' to place a lady under his protec- 
tion,' who was travelling in the same direction. 
Smith looked at her ; she was young and pretty, 



134 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

and dressed in deep mourning. 'A widow!' 
said Smith to himself. ' Certainly, sir, with 
pleasure.' 

"How they did get on! With opening and 
shutting the windows in the cars, pulling that 
travelling shawl round the pretty shoulders that 
wouldn't keep it up, and trying to quiet her nerves 
when the cars went through ' the dark places,' 
Smith didn't know any more than you whether 
they were travelling through France or Spain, and 
what's more, he didnH care! 

"Arriving at their place of destination much 
sooner than was necessary, (conductors and engi- 
neers have no bowels of mercy,) he escorted 
the widow to the house of her friend, taking the 
most disinterested care of the big and little band- 
boxes, and was strongly tempted to put an end to 
the life of the little poodle-dog she carried in her 
arms. 

" An hour after, he sat down in his lonely 
quarters at the hotel, and dutifully drew towards 
him a sheet of paper to write to his wife. It ran 
as follows : — 

" ' My Deabest Wife : If you knew how utter- 
ly desolate I am without you. I can think of 
nothing else, and feel entirely unfitted for business. 
As for pleasure, that is out of the question, without 



FANNY FERN. 135 

you. I've been bored to death with the care of 
an empty-headed woman — (you know I couldn't 
refuse, my angel) ; but I never will be hampered so 
again. I long for the day that will return me to 
your arms. Your loving husband, 

" 'J. S .' 

" Then drawing towards him a nice sheet of em- 
bossed note-paper, he penned the following: — 

" ' My Dear Madam : Those blue eyes have 
never ceased to haunt me since we parted. Thank 
you for your flattering acceptance of my invitation 
to ride. I will call for you at four this afternoon. 
Till then, my heart is with you. 
11 'Yours, ever, 

" 'Joseph Smith.' 

"Full two mortal hours Joseph spent at his 
* twilight,' adorning his outer man. How those 
whiskers were curled and perfumed ! What a fit 
were those primrose kid gloves! How immacu- 
late was that shirt bosom ! How excruciatingly 
those boots pinched ! The very horses pricked up 
their ears and arched their necks proudly, as if 
they knew what a freight of loveliness they were 
to carry. 

"Arrived at the widow's Joseph handed the 
reins to a servant and was settling his pet curl* 



x36 LIFE 

preparatory to mounting the stairs, when a letter 
was rudely thrust into his hand, and he was un- 
ceremoniously seized by that dickey and sent spin- 
ning out upon the side-walk. As soon as he re- 
covered breath, he picked himself up, and looked 
at the letter. Horror of horrors ! He had placed 
the letters in the wrong envelopes ! The widow 
had his wife's, and what was worse, his wife the 
widow's ! Oh, Smith ! Oh, Joseph Smith ! 

" Moral. — Some think it wise to use envelopes, 
1 some othewise. 1 Joseph inclines to the latter opin- 
ion, and advises all ' pattern husbands' to be of 
the same mind. His message hails from Cali- 
fornia 1 " 



XXVIII. 

FEMININE WISDOM. 

TT7E insert the following for the special benefit 
of the ladies. It is true, Fanny very character- 
istically informs us, that they ' don't all know as 
much as she does,' but then that is hardly to be 
expected. 

" Tupper, speaking of the choice of a wife, says, 
' Hath she wisdom ? it is precious, but beware that 
thou exceed I ' 

" My dear sir, wasn't you caught napping that 
time? Didn't you speak in meeting? Didn't 
cloven feet peep out of your literary shoes? Don't 
it take an American woman to see through you ! 
Isn't that a tacit acknowledgment that there are 
women who do ' exceed ? ' Wouldn't you think 
so if ycu lived this side the pond ? Hope you 



138 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 

don't judge us by John Bull's daughters, who 
stupefy themselves on roast-beef and porter. I tell 
you Yankee women are on the squirrel order. 
You'd lose your English breath trying to follow 
them. There isn't a man here in America that 
knows as much as his wife. Some of them own it, 
and some don't, but they all believe it, like gospel. 
They ask our opinion about everything. Some- 
times straightforward, and sometimes in a circle 
■ — but they ask it! There are petticoats in the 
pulpit, petticoats in the editorial chair, petticoats 
in the lecturer's desk, petticoats behind the 
counter, petticoats labelled l M. D.' - Oh, they 
1 exceed I ' no mistake about that. All femality is 
wide awake over here, Mr. Tupper. They crowd, 
and jostle, and push, just as if they wore hats. I 
don't uphold them in that, because, as I tell them, 
'tis better policy to play possum, and wear the 
mask of submission. No use in rousing any 
unnecessary antagonism. But they don't all know as 
much as I do. I shall reach the goal j ust as quick 
in my velvet shoes, as if I tramped on rough-shod 
as they do, with their Woman's Bights Convention 
brogans I 



XXIX. 

ALWAYS SPEAK THE TRUTH. 

TITHY, Fanny Fern ! Did you ever hear any old 
saying about practising and preaching ? How 
came you ever to think of this sentiment ? Oh, 
Fanny! you are a born writer of fiction. Didn't 
you prove your genius for that sort of thing when 
you wrote the following 'Fern.' 

,l Well, now, do you know I did that, till I came 
very near being mobbed in the street for a curiosi- 
ty? I was verdant enough to believe that 'hon- 
esty was the best policy.' The first astonisher 
that I had, was on the occasion of the visit of a 
vain old lady to our house, before I was out of 
pantalettes. Her bonnet was stuck full of artificial 
flowers, looking as much out of place as a wreath 
of rosebuds on a mummy ! Some such thought 



140 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

was passing through my mind, as I stood looking 
at her — when, mistaking my protracted gaze for 
one of admiration, she faced square about, and 
asked me if I didn't think they were becoming? 
1 No ma! am] said I, never flinching a hair. Didn't 
I get a boxed ear for that ? 

" Welly I didn't make out much better in my 
subsequent attempts to ' speak the truth ;' and 
what visionary ever concocted such nonsense, Tm 
at a loss to know. 

" I'd like to put the question to you, and you, 
and you, and YOU ! — Would the wheels of crea- 
tion ever ' go ahead ' without one everlasting intol- 
erable squeak, if they were not l oiled up ' con- 
stantly with flattery ? No shirking, now ! no 
dodging the question ! Of couese they wouldn't ! 
I humbly confess I ain't broke in myself, as much 
as I ought to be, but I'm learning by degrees ! I 
can't help looking over my shoulder occasionally 
when anybody says a pretty thing to me to see if 
'cloven foot' is anywhere round! but that will 
wear off in time. It almost killed me the first 
time I did the agreeable to a person I had no more 
respect for than Judas Iscariot, but I lived through 
it, though I don't take to it naturally ! 

" I've a tell-tale trick of blushing, too, when I'm 
being delivered of a lie, that stands very much in 



FANNY FERN. 141 

my light. I'm afraid there's some defect in my or- 
ganization. I've applied to two or three young 
physicians, but they only aggravate my complaint. 
I'm thinking of putting myself under the tuition 

of ; if I don't ' take my degree ' then, I'll 

give up and done with it ! 

11 Oh dear ! it's an' awful thing to grow up ! to find 
your catechise, and Jack the Giant-Killer, and your 
Primer, and Mother Goose, all a humbug! To 
come across a wolf making ' sheep's eyes ' at a 
lamb ; to be obliged to make a chalk-mark on the 
saints to know them from the sinners ; to see hus- 
bands, well — there! when I think of them, I 
must wait till a new dictionary is made before I 
can express my indignation ! Wish I'd been intro- 
duced to Adam before he found out it was beyond 
him to keep the commandments. If there's any- 
thing [ hate, His an apple I " 



XXX. 

MOSES MILTIADES MADISON. 

T7VEKYBODY knows Moses. He and others 
like him, " carry the bag " in too many of our 
churches. But nobody seems to know him so well 
as Fanny ; so we will let her relate his " experi- 
ence," in her own words : 

" Moses Miltiades Madison would fain have the 
world believe that the stumbling-block the fallen 
angels tripped over was no besetting sin of his. 

" The very tails of his coat hung around him in a 
helpless kind of a way, as if they knew they ought 
to be suggestive of their owner's humility. No sin- 
ful zephyrs presumed to dally with the straight 
locks, plastered with such puritanical precision over 
his diminutive head ; his mouth had a sanctimo- 
nious drawing down at the corners, and his voice 
was a cross between a groan and a wail. At every 



FANNY FEKN. 143 

prayer-meeting and conventicle, Moses was on the 
ground, (simultaneously with the sexton,) made the 
most long-winded prayer ; elaborated to seventh-iAE, 
the verse he was expounding, and kept one note 
ahead of the singing-choir in the ' doxology ; ' 
knew exactly how long it would be before the na- 
tives of the Palm Tree Islands would dress more 
fashionably than the wild beasts around them, and 
was entirely posted up about the last speech and 
confession of the very latest missionary whom the 
savages had made mince-meat of. 

11 Now Moses had an invalid wife ; and his ' path 
of duty,' after evening meeting, generally laid in 
the direction of Widow Gray's house. She was 
1 afraid, ' and he — wasn't 1 So he took the prayer- 
book, the Bible, and the widow, under his protec- 
tion, and went the longest way round. His wife, 
to be sure, before his return, came to the conclusion 
that it was a ' protracted meeting, ' but then Moses 
was 'a burning and a shining light,' (at least so 
the ' church ' said,) and if Mrs. Moses Was of a' dif- 
ferent opinion, she kept it to herself. That he did 
occasionally pervert Scripture words and phrases, 
and make a very ' carnal ' use of the same, when 
none of the congregation were present, was an in- 
disputable fact ; that the crickets, and chairs and 
tables, sometimes changed places in a hurry, waa 



144 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 

another ; but the last was probably owing to his 
being a { medium' for some ' spiritual rappings.' 

" But if Mrs. Moses ' kept dark,' Jeremiah Jones 
wouldn't ! He was as thorough and straight-for- 
ward in his religion as he was in building houses; 
he detested ' sham foundations,' as he profession 
ally expressed it ! 

" One night, in an evil hour, Moses popped up, 
as usual, from his seat in meeting, intending to 
give an extra touch to his devotional exercises, as 
he contemplated taking a longer walk than usual 
with little Widow Gray. So he told ' the brethren/ 
(through his nose,) that ' if ever there was a sinner 
that deserved a very uncomfortable place hereafter, 
it was him — (Moses /) — that it was a marvel to him 
that he was permitted to cumber the earth, that 
his sins were more than the hairs on his head/ 
(and, by the way, that was a very moderate com- 
putation !) 

" So Jeremiah Jones seemed to think ; for he 
1 riz ' very demurely, and remarked that ' he had 
been brother Moses Madison's neighbor for many 
years, and was qualified to endorse that little state- 
ment of his, with regard to himself, as substantially 
correct in every particular / ' Moses fainted I " 



XXXI. 

TOM VERSUS FAN; OR, A LITTLE TALK 
ABOUT LITTLE THINGS. 

TN" the sketch thus entitled, we are once more 
■*■ presented with a life picture, a veritable tran- 
script of the writer's own mind. It will be seen 
that Fanny is au fait in the mysteries of coquetry ; 
understands the use of long dresses, and "gaiter- 
boots" to perfection. Just listen: — 

" ' Well, Fan ; any room for me here ? ' said Tom 
Grey, as he seated himself in a large arm-chair in 
his sister's boudoir. 

" ' Possession is nine points of the law, Tom ; it's 
no use answering in the negative now. 1 

" ' I'm in a very distracted state of mind, sis, and 

I've come to make a clean breast of it to you.' 

" ' Mercy on us ! if you are going to confess your 
10 



146 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

sins, I shall beat a retreat; the catalogue is longer 
than my patience/ 

" 'Listen; you know yesterday was one of my 
days for walking ? ' 

" i Boisterous wind, hey ? ' 

" ' Yes ; and a man must use hih eyes when the 
gods favor him. Just before me, in Washington- 
street, I saw such a pair of feet ! Now you know 
pretty feet are my passion, and ' Cinderella's ' were 
not a circumstance to these. So I travelled on be- 
hind them, in a state of mute ecstacy, and they 
might have led me to the Dead Sea, and I shouldn't 
have stopped to ask any questions ! ' 

" ' Did you see her face ? ' 

"'Face?— I didn't think of such a thing. I 
shouldn't have cared if she hadn't any face. Of 
course it was pretty ; nature wouldn't have per- 
fected those continuations to that degree and left — 
but no matter, they were 'the greatest' feet for 
little feet, I ever saw. All of a sudden my goddess 
vanished into a shoe-store, and I stood gaping in 
at the window and wishing I was the clerk. Pre- 
sently, the young man handed her a pair of boots, 
and going round the counter, down he goes on one 
knee, and, by the blessed saints ! if he didn't take 
that dear little foot in his lap and try on those boots I 
The rascal was twice as long about it as he need 



FANNY FERN. 147 

be, too, for after it was all laced on, he kept ( smooth- 
ing out the wrinkles,' as he said, ' on the instep.' 
St. Crispin ! wasnH I furious ! ' 

11 ' Well — didn't you see her face, all this time ? ' 
" ' No, I tell you ; she had one of those curs — I 
beg pardon — curious veils that you women are so 
fond of playing beau peep with ! But her shawl fell 
off, and you'd better believe there was a figure 
under it even those feet might be proud to carry.' 
" ' Well — let's have the denouement.' 
" ' She got into an omnibus — didn't I wish I was 
the mat in the bottom of it ? No room for another 
soul, outside or in, or I should have followed her. 
Wish T might wake up and find myself married to 
those feet, some morning! ' 

"'Fan — these long skirts are very effective 
weapons in the hands of a pretty woman. They 
are provocative of curiosity. Now Bloomers — 
ugh ! (a man is disenchanted at once ;) but a nice, 
plump, little, cunning foot, creeping in and out, 
mice-like, from under those graceful folds — depend 
upon it, no woman who knows anything, will ever 
shorten her skirts. A coquette does as much exe- 
cution with them as a Spanish dame with her fan 
and mantilla.' 

" ' Many a woman, when she thinks it worth her 
while, ' gets up ' an imaginary quagmire, and, 



148 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

presto! there's a pair of feet for you! and then 
down goes the long skirt again, and a man's senses 
with it Jupiter ! don't they understand it ? ' 

" ' Tom, if you was worth the trouble, I'd box 
ycur ears ! Look out the window there, I suppose 
that's a man ; a cane and a coat-tail walking behind a 
moustache! Well, here's the thermometer up to 
boiling point, and his coat is buttoned up tight to 
his jugular, to show his chest to the best possible 
advantage. I don't believe if he was stifling, 
he'd let his throat out of prison. Oh, vanity I thy 
name is man ! I sat here at the window, laughing 
till I had fits, to see that fellow prink, the other 
morning, and make himself beautiful. The atti- 
tudes, he practised ! the different styles of hair he 
1 got up] and brushed down I the neck-ties he tried 
on ! the way his bosom-pin wouldn't locate to his 
satisfaction ! were all excruciating to my risibles.' 

" ' Well, Fan, you've no mercy, so 1 might as 
well say — I suppose, as to the comparative vanity 
of men and women, — it's six of one and half-a- 
dozen of the other; but to change the subject. Do 
you know I was thinking, to-day, that dentistry 
might be made a very fascinating occupation if 
one could but choose one's customers? ' 

"'As how ? ' said Fan. 

« * Why / should proceed after this fashion. 

\ 



FANNY FERN. 149 

When a pretty woman came to me, I should plant 
her down in the crucifying chair ; open sundry 
mysterious-looking drawers, spread out a formida- 
ble array of instruments under her little nose, take 
up all the files, and saws, and scrapers, one by one, 
and hold them up to the light to see if they were 
ready primed. Then I'd step round behind her 
chair (getting napkin, basin, and footstool fixed to 
my satisfaction.) The effect I calculated on being 
produced, the little blue-eyed victim would turn 
pale and look deliciously imploring into my face — 
then I'd use a little ' moral suasion,' as the minis- 
ters say — and quiet her nerves. Then follows 
an examination of her mouth, (I should make a 
long job of that !) Yery likely the light would 
not be right, and I should have to move her head 
a little nearer to my shoulder, then it is more than 
probable her long curls would get twisted round 
the buttons of my coat; there 'd be a web for two 
to unweave ! Then we'd commence again ; the 
file in my hand makes an unlucky move against 
some sensitive tooth, — by that time it is to be 
hoped she'd be ready to faint, and need some- 
thing held to her lips ! Oh, Fan, my mind is in a 
state of vibration between dentistry and the shoe 
business I ' 

" ■ What do you think of the clerical profes- 



150 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

sion ? ' said Fan, laughing. c That would give you 
an opportunity to ask them plump, without any 
circumlocution or circumbendibus, the state of their 
hearts ? You'd be of the Methodist persuasion, 
of course, and patronize ' Love Feasts.' 

" ' Not a bit of it. If I went into that line of 
business, I'd be a Koman Catholic priest, and get 
up a confession box, and the first exercise of my 
authority after that would be to get you into a 
nunnery somewhere. I never saw a * Fanny ' yet 
that wasn't as mischievous as Satan.' 

" ' The name is infectious, my dear ; can't you 
get it changed for me ? Speaking of that, Tom, 
you know that ' miserable young man ' that talked 
so freely of ( prussic acid and daggers ' once on a 
time? May I die an old maid if he isn't the 
owner of a pretty little wife and two or three chil- 
dren — he is as fat as a porpoise, merry as a cricket, 
gay as a lark — don't he sing out to me ' how d'ye 
do Fan ? ' in the most heart-whole fashion, as if he 
never said anything more than that to me all the 
days of his life ! Oh, Tom ! men have died — and 
ivorms have eaten ''em — but — not for love I ' 

" ' Do women ever die for love ? ' 

" ' Heaven forbid ! I did see a man the other 
day, though, oh Tom I ! — never mind ; he's gone — 
with your ' little feet; ' vanished into that grave of 



FANNY FERN. 151 

our mutual hopes — an omnibus! my heart went 
with him — such a figure as he had I Saints and 
angels ! wouldn't I like to see him again ? I've 
had an overpowering sensation of goneness ever 
since ! and speaking of goneness, won't you walk 
cut, before you light that horrid cigar.' n 



XXXII. 

A LETTEE TO THE TKUE FLAG. 

Next get into the habit of writing letters to your female 
acquaintances, which will draw from them replies ; from both 
of which sources you will in time learn enough of female 
vanity and sentimentality to form the ground-work of a love- 
story. — True Flag, No. 39. 

T)EAE MR. TRUE FLAG:— I'm appointed 'a 
committee of one/ to inquire who perpetrated 
that sentiment in your last week's paper ? Trot him 
out! please, and let me put my two eyes on him ; 
and if looking will annihilate him, there shan't be 
anything left for the undertaker to shovel up. I'm 
indignant, very I and what's more ; I don't like it ! 
11 ' Female vanity and sentimentality /' Oh, Deli- 
lah, Dolly, Julia, Jane, Agnes, Amelia, Kathleen, 
Kitty, your letters fell into the hands of the Philis- 
tines, and that's their epitaph ! 

Ul Female vanity and sentimentality /' ,0-o-h! 



FANNY FERN. 153 

May you never have a string to your dickey, or a 
dickey to your string ! button to your coat, or a 
pair of whole gloves or stockings. May you sit in 
a state of utter inconsolability over your unswept, 
untidy hearth, and bachelor fire. May you never 
have a soft place to lay your head when it aches ; 
no nice little hand to magnetize away the blue de- 
vils ; nobody to jump up on a cricket and tie your 
neck-cloth in a pretty little bow ! No bright eyes 
to look proudly out the window after you when 
you go down to the store ! no pretty little feet to 
trip to the door to meet you when you come back ! 
May your coffee be smoky, your toast burnt, your 
tea be water-bewitched ; your razor grow dull, your 
moustache turn the wrong way I your boots be 
'corned/ 1 your lips be innocent of a kiss from this 
day, henceforward and forever ; and may you die 
a cantankerous, crusty, captious, companionless, 
musty, fusty old Benedict I Amen ! 

"Fanny Fern. 

" P. S. — If he's handsome, dear Mr. Flag, we'll 
remove the anathema, and let him off with a slight 
reprimand, under promise of better behavior. 

" F. F." 



7* 



XXXIII. 

THE ORPHAN. — BY FAN NT FERN. 

TT was a rough, dark, unsightly-looking, old farm- 
house. The doors were off the hinges, panes of 
glass were broken in the windows, the grass had 
overgrown the little gravel-path, and the pigs and 
poultry went in and out the door as if they were 
human. Farmer Brady sat sunning his bloated face 
on the door-step, stupid from the effects of the last 
debauch ; his ungainly, idle boys were quarrelling 
which should smoke his pipe, and two great romps 
of girls, with uncombed locks and tattered clothes, 
were swinging on the gate in front of the house. 

" Everything within doors was in keeping with 
the disorder that reigned without, save a young, 
fair girl, who sat at the low window, busily sewing 
on a coarse garment. Her features were regular 
and delicate, her hands and feet small and beauti- 



FANNY FERN". 155 

fully formed, and despite her rustic attire, one could 
see with a glance that she was a star that had wan 
dered from its sphere. 

"' I say, Lilla,' said one of the hoydens, bound- 
ing into the kitchen and pulling the comb out of 
Lilla's head, as she bent over her work, shedding 
the long, brown hair around her slight figure till 
her white shoulders and arms were completely 
veiled; *I say, make haste about that gown. Ma 
said you should finish it by noon, and you don't 
sew half fast enough.' 

Lilla's cheeks flushed, and the small hands wan- 
dered through the mass of hair in the vain attempt 
to confine it again, as she said, meekly, ' Won't 
you come help me, Betsey ? my head aches sadly, 
to-day.' 

"'No, I won't. You think because you are a 
lady, that you can live here on us and do nothing 
for a living ; but you wont, and you are no better 
than Peggy and I, with your soft voice, and long 
hair and doll face/ So saying, the romp went back 
again to her primitive gymnasium, the gate. 

Lilla's tears flowed fast, as her little fingers flew 
more nimbly, and by afternoon her task was com 
pleted, and she obtained permission from her jailers 
to take a walk. It was a joy to Lilla to be alone 
with nature. It was a relief to free herself from 



156 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

vulgar sights and sounds, to exchange coarse taunts, 
and rude jests, and harsh words, for the song of 
birds, the ripple of the brook, and the soft murmur 
of the wind as it sighed through the tall tree-tops. 
11 Poor Lilla ! with a soul so tuned to harmony, 
to be condemned to perpetual discord! Through 
the long, bright, summer days, to drudge at her 
ceaseless toil, at the bidding of those harsh voices ; 
at night, to creep into her little bed, but to recall 
tearfully a dim vision of childhood. A gentle, 
wasted form; a fair, sweet face, growing paler, 
day by day ; large, lustrous, loving eyes, that still 
followed her by day and night ; then, a confused 
recollection of a burial — afterwards a dispute as to 
her future home, ending in a long, dismal journey. 
Since then, scanty meals, the harsh blow, coarse 
clothing, taunting words and bitter servitude ; and 
then she would sob herself to sleep as she asked, 
1 Must it always be thus ? is there none to care for 
me? ' 

" The golden days of summer faded away ; the 
leaves put on their dying glory, the soft wind of 
the Indian summer lifted gently the brown tresses 
from Lilla's sweet face. She still took her accus- 
tomed walks, but it was not alone. A stranger 
had taken up his residence at the village inn. He 
had met Lilla in her rambles, and his ready inge- 



FANNY FERN. 157 

nuity soon devised a self-introduction. He satis- 
fied himself that she claimed no affinity to the 
disorderly inmates of the farm-house ; he drew 
from her her little history, and knew that she was 
an orphan, unprotected in her own sweet innocence, 
save by Him who guards us all. 

11 And so — the dewy, dim twilight witnessed 
their meetings, and the color came to the pale 
cheek of Lilla, and her eyes grew wondrously 
beautiful, and her step was as light as her heart, 
and harsh household words fell to the ground like 
arrows short of the mark — for Lilla was happy. 
In the simplicity of her guileless heart, how should 
she know that Yincent lived only for the present ? 
that she was to him but one of many beautiful 
visions, admired to-day — forgotten to-morrow ! It 
was such a joy to be near him to feel herself 
appreciated, to know that she was beloved ! 

" And so time passed on ; but their meetings 
had not been unnoticed ; rough threats were 
uttered to Lilla if they were continued, for she 
had made herself too useful to be spared. All 
this was communicated to her lover, as they met 
again at the old trysting-place, and then, as she 
leaned trustingly on his arm, Vincent whispered 
in her ear words whose full import she understood 
not. Slowly the truth revealed itself! Hw sHght 



158 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

figure grew erect, as she withdrew from his 
supporting arm — her soft eye flashed with indig- 
nation, and the man of the world stood abashed in 
the presence of innocence. A moment — and he 
was alone, beneath the holy stars 1 

" That night, Lilla fled her home ; she could 
scarce be more desolate or unprotected. The next 
day found her, foot-sore and weary, in the heart 
of the great city, startled and trembling like the 
timid deer fleeing from its pursuers. 

Lilla knew that she was beautiful. She read it 
in the lengthened gaze of the passers-by. Friend- 
less, houseless and beautiful ! God help thee, 
Lilla! 



"In a dark, unhealthy garret sat Lilla ! Her 
face, still lovely, was pale as marble ; her fingers 
flew with lightning rapidity over the coarse work 
that yielded her only a shelter; but there were 
angel faces, (unseen by her,) smiling approval, and 
she could clasp those small hands when the day's 
toil was over, and say ' Our Father,'' with the 
innocent heart of childhood, and invisible ones 
had charge to guard her footsteps, and c He who 
feedeth the ravens,' gave her ' daily bread.' 
, " One day she took her little bundle, as usual, 
to the shop of her employers, and, while waiting 



FANNY FERN. 159 

for the small pittance due, her eye fell upon an 
advertisement ' for a housekeeper,' in a newspaper 
before her. But how could she obtain it ? without 
recommendation, without friends. She resolved to 
try. Her little hand trembled nervously as she 
pulled the bell of the large, handsome house. She 
was preceded by 'the servant into the library, 
where sat a fine-looking man in the prime of life. 
He looked admiringly upon the shrinking, modest 
face and form before him. She told him, in a few 
simple words, her history. 

"The eccentric old bachelor paused for a mo- 
ment, then taking her hand, he said, ' I advertised 
for a housekeeper — but I'm more in need of a wife. 
Will you marry me f ' 

"And so Lilla became a happy, honored wife; 
and if a flush passes over her sweet face when she 
meets Vincent in the circle of her husband's ac- 
quaintances, it is from no lingering feeling of affec- 
tion for the treacherous heart that held in such, 
light estimation the sacred name of orphan." 



XXXIV. 

AN" ANSWER TO MRS. CROWE. — BY 
FANNY FERN. 

" ' 1 incline to think that a girl really in love — one who 
bore the evident symptoms of the malady — would be thought 
very improper;^ yet I have often fancied that there must be 
a man born in the world for every woman ; one whom to see 
would be to love, to reverence, to adore ; one with whom her 
sympathies would so entirely blend, that she would recognize 
him at once her true lord. Now and then these pairs come 
together ; and woe to her who meets this other self too late.' " j 
— Mrs. Crowe, 







H, my dear Mrs. Crowe, don't speak of it ! 
Isn't it dreadful to think of? It is not only 



woe, 



but whoa ! ! You mustn't look at him, wo- 



man alive ; nor think of him. Just number over 
all Mr. Crowe's excellencies on your ten fingers; 
get married over again, (if it will help you any) ; 
do anything but think of that ' other self J I've no 



FANNY FERN. 131 

manner of doubt but Satan will send him across 
your path at every turn and corner. Turn ycur 
head away, if you can't your heart. The more you 
like him, the more you mustn't let him see it ; but, 
my gracious ! you mustn't like him ! of course 
you understand that ! Shut your eyes to moon- 
light and starlight; peruse Euclid and Walker's 
Dictionary, (not WEBSTER'S !) and Lives of the 
Martyrs, and the Almanac. Don't make your 
heart soft, reading poetry, or hearing music. Live 
low and look high ; redouble your attention to Mr. 
Crowe ; drive round as if you hadn't a minute to 
live; where you used to put one stitch in your 
husband's coat, put a dozen now ! Take good care 
of the little ' Crowes ! ' and never let Mr. Crowe 
go on a journey, in these days of steamboat acci- 
dents and railroad collisions ! He might get hurt, 
you know ! How can you tell ? 'Tisn't safe !" 
11 



XXXV. 

MRS. FARRINGTON ON MATRIMONY. 

I7AKNT has "tried it," and she knows. 



" Sambo, what am your 'pinion 'bout de married life? 
Don't you tink it de most happiest ? " 

" Well, I'll tell you 'bout dat ere — 'pends altogether how 
ley enjoy themselves." 

"Sambo! Sambo! be quiet! You needn't 
always tell the truth. White folks don't. Just as 
sure as you do it, you'll lose every friend you have. 

" Don't roll up the whites of your eyes at me 
that way. It's gospel I'm telling you. I promise 
you I don't go through creation with my eyes shut ; 
and I've found out that good people always tell 
the truth ivhenit don't conflict with their interests; 
and they like to hear it from you when it hits none 
of their peculiaristicks ! There's your chart and 
compass, so shape your course accordingly. 

" I hope you don't intend to insinuate that mat- 



FANNY FERN. 163 

rimony isn't paradise ! Guess you forget how be- 
witching they look when they stand up before the 
minister, promising all sorts of pretty things and 
afraid to look each other in the eye ! Orange 
wreaths and bouquet de humbug — alabaster kid 
gloves — hair curled within an inch of their lives — 
Brummel neck-tie, patent boots, satin slippers and 
palpitating hearts ! Oh, Sambo ! can't make me 
believe a cloud ever comes over such a blue sky 
— no indeed I They're just as contented a twelve 
month after, as a fly in a spider's web. 

" You never saw a husband yet, that wasn't as 
docile as a lamb when everything went to his mind. 
Don't they always love and cherish their wives as 
long as there is a timber left of them ? Wouldn't 
they extinguish the lamp of life for any man, or 
womau, who dare say a word to their dispraise ? 
Would they ever do that same themselves t An- 
swer me that? 

u And as to wives ; they are as easily driven as 
a flock of sheep when a locomotive comes tearing 
past. Oh J y-e-s, Sambo, matrimony is a ' blessed 
institution,' so the ministers say, (finds 'em in^ees, 
you know !) and so everybody says — except those 
who have tried it f So go away, and don't be wool- 
gathering. You'll never be the ' Uncle Tom' of 
your tribe." 



XXXVI. 

A WHISPER TO ROMANTIC YOUNG 
LADIES. 

u A crust of bread, a pitcher of water, a thatched roof, and 
love, — there's happiness for you." 

P\ IRLS ! that's a humbug / The very thought of 
it makes me groan. It's all moonshine. In 
fact, men and moonshine in my dictionary are syn- 
onymous. 

" Water and a crust ! rather spare diet ! May 
do for the honey-moon. Don't make much differ- 
ence then, whether you eat shavings or sardines — 
but when you return to substantiate, and your 
wedding dress is put away in a trunk for the ben- 
efit of posterity, if you can get your husband to 
smilmoD. anything short of a ' sirloin' or a roast 
turkey, you are a lucky woman. 



FANNY FERN. 165 

"Don't every married woman know that a man 
is as savage as a New Zealander when he's hun 
gry ? and when he comes home to an empty cup 
board and meets a dozen little piping mouths, (ne 
cessary accompaniments of l cottages' and 'love, 
clamorous for supper, 'Love will have the sulks, 
or my name isn't Fanny. Lovers have a trick of 
getting disenchanted, too, when they see their 
Aramintas with dresses pinned up round the 
waist, hair powdered with sweeping, faces scowled 
up over the wash-tub, and soap-suds dripping 
from red elbows. 

11 We know these little accidents never happen 
in novels — where the heroine is always ' dressed 
in white, with a rose-bud in her hair,' and lives on 
blossoms and May dew ! There are no wash-tubs 
or gridirons in her cottage ; her children are born 
cherubim, with a seraphic contempt for dirt pies 
and molasses. She remains ' a beauty ' to the 
end of the chapter, and ' steps out ' just in time to 
anticipate her first gray hair, her husband drawing 
his last breath at the same time, as a dutiful hus- 
band should] and not falling into the unroman- 
tic error of outliving his grief, and marrying a 
second time ! 

" But this humdrum life, girls, is another affair, 
with its washing and ironing and cleaning days, 



166 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

when children expect boxed ears, and visitors 
picked-up dinners. All the ' romance ' there is in 
it, yon can put under a three-cent piece ! 

" St. Paul says they who marry do well enough, 
but they who donH marry do well-er! Sensible 
man that. Nevertheless, had /flourished in those 
times, I would have undertaken to change his sen- 
timents ; for those old-fashioned gentlemen were 
worth running after. 

" One half the women marry for fear they shall 
be old maids. Now I'd like to know why an old 
maid is to be snubbed, any more than an old 
bachelor ? Old bachelors reeeive ' the mitten,' 
occasionally, and old maids have been known to 
outlive several 'offers.' They are both useful in 
their way — particularly old bachelors ! 

" Now /intend to be an old maid ; ' and I shall 
found a mutual accommodation society, and admit 
old bachelors honorary members. They shall wait 
on us evenings, and we'll hem their pocket hand- 
'kerchers and mend their gloves. No boys under 
thirty to be admitted. Irreproachable dickeys, 
immaculate shirt-bosoms and faultless boots indis 
pensable. Gentlemen always to sit on the opposite. 
side of the room — no refreshments but ices! In- 
stant expulsion the consequence of the first attempt 
at love-making ! No allusion to be made to Moore 



FANNY FERN. 16? 

or Byron ! The little c bye-laws ' of the societj 
not to be published ! Moonlight evenings, th« 
sisters are not at home! the moon being con 
sidered, from time immemorial, an unprincipled 
magnetiser I " 



XXXVII. 

A WOMAN WITH A SOUL. 

u A new affectation is to speak of the soul as feminine. For 
example, the London papers announce the third edition of 
1 The Soul, her sorrows, and her aspirations.' " 

T always thought John Bull was a goose ; now I 
know it ! A woman with a soul 1 I guess so ! 
(made out of an old spare-rib!) What on earth 
does she want of a soul? First thing you know, 
she'd be eating of the { tree of knowledge,' and 
we had enough of that in Eve's day ; I tell you 
the^e are none but masculine souls. 

" It is a matter of astonishment and thanksgiving 
to me that men condescend to notice us at all. I 
trust all the sisters feel their inferiority, and know 
how to keep their place, as well as / do ! It's 
next door to martyrdom when they speak to we, 
I'm in such a ' fluster ' for fear I shall make some 



FANNY FERN. 169 

wretched blunder. It is as much as ever I dare to 
look at them, but when it comes to talking, I'm 
entirely nonplussed ! If by good luck I catch an 
idea, I chase it round till I lose it ; and if I were 
to swallow a whole dictionary, I couldn't clothe 
that idea in words ! Oh, dear ! wish I had a ' soul/ 
just to see how it would seem I It would be so re- 
freshing to have a new sensation!" 



XXXVIII. 

CLEEICAL COURTING. 

fTHE following sketch, published by Mrs. Far- 
■*■ rington under the name of Fanny Fern, is a 
graphic life-picture. We are informed that a 
worthy gentleman connected with her family by 
marriage, sat for the portrait of Ephraim. 

" Mr. Ephraim Leatherstring labored under the 
hallucination that he had a call to preach the 
gospel to the heathen. He had hitherto hid his 
1 light under a bushel ' in the worldly occupations 
of mending fences, felling trees, driving cattle and 
shoeing horses. Conceiving that the chief quali- 
fications for his new office were a pair of green 
spectacles, and a long, petticoat-y, ministerial cloak, 
he forthwith equipped himself in this spiritual ar- 
mor, and presented himself before ' the Board ; ' by 



FANNY FERN. 171 

•whom, after examination, lie was pronounced a 
perfect — shingle! and forthwith set apart for the 
work. 

" His passage was spoken in the Sea-Gull for 
the OurangOntang Islands, and his sea-chest duly 
stored with ' Village Melodies ' and penny tracts, 
when it was intimated to him by ' the Board ' that 
it would be advisable for him to provide himself 
with a help-meet before starting. Whether they 
feared his yoking with an unbeliever, or — well — 
no matter ; any way, two days' grace were allowed 
him to find Mrs. Ephraim Leather string. Letters of 
introduction to three damsels were given him, 
whose parents' principles were known to be ' dyed 
in the wool.' 

"Now this little matrimonial luxury had not 
been thought of by Ephraim ; or, if it had, was 
quickly banished from his mind as a temptation of 
Satan, and quite incompatible with his new calling. 
However, coming to him recommended by such 
high authority, c Barkis was willing ! ' 

"His first call was upon Miss Charity Church. 
She was absent on a visit. Unfortunate female ! I 
No chance for her to see the Ourang Outang Is- 
lands ! Ephraim began to feel nervous, for, now 
he had made up his mind to be a victim, he didn't 
like to be disappointed. 



172 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

" Nothing daunted, tie wended his way to Deacon 
Pettebone's. His daughter Merinda was as round 
as a barrel and much the same shape, as rosy as 
an apple and quite as sweet, and had been brought 
up by the deacon, and that's enough said! Eph. 
made known his errand to the deacon, who was 
highly delighted at the honor about to be confer- 
red on his family, and left him alone with his 
chubby daughter, not doubting that she would be 
of the same opinion. Now Ephraim, (spite of his 
long cloak and green spectacles,) had made the ac- 
quaintance of several other damsels in the course of 
his earthly pilgrimage ; but he knew that this 
missionary wooing was to be got up on a new 
principle ; so he decorously seated himself in the 
farthest corner of the room, placed the palms of 
his hands together, allowing the two forefingers to 
meet, and began to tell ' his experience,' by way 
of solemnizing her mind, to all of which Merinda 
appeared to listen with becoming gravity. He 
then informed her, that he and c the Board ' had 
decided to invite her to be his co-worker and fellow- 
laborer in the Ourang Outang vineyard. Then, 
peering over his green spectacles at Merinda, who 
sat stuffing the corners of her checked apron in 
her mouth, he said, ' Silence gives consent. Let us 
pray. 1 When he arrived at Amen, and turned his 



FANNY FERN. 173 

head to reward himself with a long look at his 
future wife, Merinda was among the missing; 
rolling on the grass at the back part of the house, 
in a perfect paroxysm of laughter ! Eph. had no 
more time to waste on such a sinner, so he picked 
himself up, and his cloak was soon seen fluttering 
in the wind, in the direction of Parson Clutter- 
buck's. 

"Now it was foreordained that Kezia should be 
the chosen vessel. She was always at home, and 
there he found her ; as straight and perpendicular 
as if she had swallowed the meeting-house steeple. 
His errand was soon made known — the form 
slightly varying from the first order of perform- 
ances. Kezia straightened down the folds of her 
stiffly-starched neckerchief, and said meekly, that 
1 she felt inclined to think it was the path of duty 
for her;' which Eph. ventured to subscribe to, 
with the first holy kiss ; when he started back in 
consternation, on observing that her red hair was 
curled around her face. He shook his head omin- 
ously, and said, ' he was afraid { the Board ' would 
think it had a carnal look,' — but upon Kezia's in- 
forming him that it was a defect she was born with, 
they made up their minds that a little patience 
and pomatum might, in time, remove this obstacle 
to their usefulness, and forthwith embarked on the 



174 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 

sea of matrimony, « fetching up ' at the Ourang 
Outang Islands, just in the wane of the honey- 
moon, strong in the belief that the fate of heathen 
millions, long since unborn (as Mrs. Partington 
might say,) lay in their matrimonial hands." 



XXXIX. 

WHAT FOWLER SAYS. 

T70WLER, the phrenologist, who, probably, never 
saw Fanny Fern, sanctions and publishes the 
following from one of her friends — honest John 
Walter, we suspect. The reader who has perused 
the preceding pages can judge of its truthfulness : 

" Fanny Fern is the most retiring and unobtru- 
sive of human beings. More than any other cele- 
brity we have ever known, she shrinks from per- 
sonal display and public observation. During her 
residence in this city she has lived in the most per- 
fect privacy, never going to parties or soirees, never 
giving such herself, refusing to enlarge her circle 
of friends, and finding full employment as well as 
satisfaction in her domestic and literary duties. 
She has probably received more invitations to pri- 



176 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

vate and public assemblies, and her acquaintance 
has been more frequently sought by distinguished 
persons, during the period of her residence here, 
than any other individual. To all solicitations of 
this kind she returns a mild but decided negative. 
In the hotels at which she has resided, no one, neither 
landlord nor guest, has ever known her as Fanny 
Fern. Indeed, she has an abhorrence of personal 
publicity, and cannot be persuaded to sacrifice any 
part of the comfort of an absolute incog. We can- 
not but approve her resolution. 

" Fanny Fern is a sincerely religious woman, the 
member of an evangelical denomination, and a 
regular attendant at church. "We never knew any 
one who believed in a belief more strongly than 
she in hers, or who was more deeply grieved when 
that belief was treated with disrespect. No one 
stands less in awe of conventionalities, no one is 
more strict on a point of honor and principle than 
she. She is a person who is able to do all that she 
is convinced she ought, and to refrain from doing 
all that she is sure she ought not. In strength of 
purpose, we know not her equal among women. 

" The word which best describes Fanny Fern is 
the word Lady. All her ways and tastes are femi- 
nine and refined. Everything she wears, every 
article of furniture in her rooms, all the details of 



FANNY FERN. 177 

her table, must be clean, elegant, tasteful. Her at- 
tire, which is generally simple and inexpensive, is 
always exquisitely nice and becoming. In the 
stormiest days, when no visitor could be expected, 
she is as carefully dressed and adorned as though 
she was going to court. We say as carefully, 
though, in fact, she has a quick instinct for the 
becoming, and makes herself attractive without 
bestowing much time or thought upon the matter. 
Her voice is singularly musical ; her manner varies 
with her humor ; but it is always that of a lady. 
One who knows Fanny Fern has an idea what 
kind of women they must have been for whom 
knights-errant did battle in the Middle Ages. 

11 With all her strength, Fanny Fern is extremely 
sensitive. She can enjoy more, suffer more, love 
more, hate more, admire more and detest more, 
than any one whom we have known. With all 
her gentleness of manner, there is not a drop of 
milk and water in her veins. She believes in 
having justice done. Seventy times and seven she 
could forgive a repentant brother ; but not once, 
unless he repented. 

" Fanny Fern writes rapidly, in a large, bold 

hand ; but she sends no article away without very 

careful revision ; and her manuscript is puzzling 

to printers from its numberless erasures and inser- 

12 



178 LIFE 

tions. She writes from her heart and her eye ; 
she has little aptitude or taste for abstract thought. 
She never talks of her writings, and cares little for 
criticism, however severe. She is no more capable 
of writing an intentional double entendre, than the 
gross-minded men who have accused her of doing 
so are capable of appreciating the worth of pure 
womanhood. 

"Such are some of our impressions of Fanny 
Fern, to which we may add, that she has the finest 
form of any woman in New York, and that no 
one of the names recently assigned her in the 
papers is her true name. In ordinary circum- 
stances, we should not have thought it right thus 
to describe the characteristics of a lady ; our sole, 
and we think, sufficient justification is, the publica- 
tion of statements respecting her, only less vulgar 
than calumnious." 



XL. 



THE OTHER SIDE. 

THE following review of Kuth Hall is from the 
pen of a talented woman, far above any feelings 
of pique or jealousy. 

" Our first recollections of ' Fanny Fern ' are 
connected with her appearance in the Olive 
Branch a few years since. We were then entirely 
ignorant of her real name and position, nor did 
we, in common with the indifferent public, feel 
any particular interest or curiosity respecting 
them. The impression of the careless reader 
would have been that the spicy scraps bearing this 
signature were the production of some hoydenish 
school-girl, ambitious to see her writings in print. 
With the supposition that they were the work of 
a young lady, was associated an indefinite, but 



180 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

slightly painful feeling that the writer was not 
sufficiently endowed with female delicacy. While 
a perfect sketch, artistically wrought out, and 
disfigured by no defects of style or coarse inuen- 
does, partially filled a column, the same column 
often contained another article, full of these blem- 
ishes. Yulgar expressions and exclamations were 
often used, though when these writings were after- 
wards collected and published in a book, these 
were carefully pruned away. Some judicious 
friend had evidently guided the pen to strike out 
phraseology which would have been injurious if 
not fatal to Fanny's rising fame. Whether this 
judicious friend was the ' Mr. Tibbetts ' -through 
whose agency her first work was introduced to the 
publishers, who received and forwarded to her all 
the proofs, reading the whole aloud to her as fast 
as it appeared in type, we are not able to say. 
Upon ' Fern Leaves,' and successive volumes, thus 
carefully pruned of what too plainly revealed a 
certain coarseness in the habits of thought of the 
writer, the public has doubtless passed a just 
verdict. With the fame thus won, and the inde- 
pendence thus secured, would that ' Fanny Fern ' 
had been satisfied. 

" We do not intend to attempt an elaborate 
review of 'Buth Hall.' As a novel it will not 



FANNY FERN. 181 

bear it. "We have read it through twice without 
catching any clew to its merits or intentions as a 
work of art. Disjointed fragments of what should 
be a beautiful and complete edifice, are all that 
meet the eye. As in the newly discovered re- 
mains of ancient cities, monstrous faces, carica 
tures of humanity, glare upon us when we look for 
* the human face divine.' One cannot but feel 
that the mind of the artist must have been itself 
deformed to have designed such monstrosities. On 
looking over the preface, we perceive that the 
author disclaims the intention of writing a novel. 
We will therefore examine ' Euth Hall ' as an 
auto-biography. 

" A work which appears before the world, her- 
alded as such, with the evident intention of be- 
ing so understood, should above all else, be dis- 
tinguished for truth. Exaggerated, instead of 
correct descriptions, imaginary instead of real con- 
versations and letters, which if genuine, have no 
point, and if fictitious, no interest, should not 
have been admitted to its pages. The work 
abounds in these. If ( Euth Hall ' is l Fanny 
Fern,' then the incognito of the latter is forever 
laid aside. Half the charm attached to her wri- 
tings has already vanished. She is no longer a 
1 Maid of the Mist,' whose silvery veil conceals 



182 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

deformities and enhances beauties, but plain ' Fan- 
ny Fern;' and 'Ruth Hall' is 'Fanny Fern' 
described by herself. Let us look at this de- 
scription. 

" ' Ruth Hall ' is not without vanity. In the 
very first chapter, 'her lithe form had rounded 
into symmetry and grace, her slow step had become 
light and elastic, her smile winning, and her voice 
soft and melodious.'' 

"Again on page 48th. 

1 It was blessed to see the love light in Ruth's gentle eyes ; 
to see the rose chase the lily from her cheek ; to see the old 
spring come back to her step ; to follow her from room to 
room while she draped the pretty white curtains, and beau- 
tified unconsciously everything she touched? 

" We have not space for farther quotations, but 
must refer our readers to the 59th, 61st, 70th, and 
other pages of the work, not forgetting the lengthy 
and flattering phrenological description commen- 
cing at page 278. 

" Another very striking characteristic of ' Ruth 
Hall' is her want of filial piety. If we omit 
the evidences of this, half the book disappears. 
Whether the parents of her deceased husband, 
respect for whose memory at least should have 
restrained her pen, or her own relatives, become 



FANNY FERN. 183 

the subjects of her notice, vulgar ridicule and 
pointless wit are unsparingly lavished upon them. 
Whatever may have been the faults of those con- 
nected with 'Fanny Fern's' past history, a decent 
self-respect should have withheld her from thus 
parading them before the world. It is well known 
to the public that 'Fanny Fern' has been twice 
married, but all allusion to this circumstance is 
omitted in ' Kuth Hall.' How are we then to 
know that this suppressed history may not con- 
tain a partial justification of the course pursued by 
her friends ? One intimate with her first husband, 
long ago informed us that she was a ' poor house- 
keeper,' and ' did not make him a comfortable 
home.' We have therefore been half inclined to 
sympathize with 'Mrs. Hall's' lamentations over 
the missing accomplishment of bread-making. 

" But for infringing on the sacredness of com- 
munications intended to be private, we could give 
a different aspect to other allusions in 'Ruth Hall.' 
Whatever may have been the defects of 'Hya- 
cinth Ellet,' he has never publicly failed to ' know 
his father and his mother.' The gray hairs which 
1 are a crown of glory when found in the way of 
righteousness,' should have shielded an aged pa- 
rent from the irreverent attacks of the daughter, 
and the hollow cough of an invalid struggling with 



184 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

a yet more pitiless foe, should have found its way 
to the heart of the sister. "When the clods of the 
valley shall rest upon the heads of both father and 
brother, we shall not envy the emotions of 'Fanny 
Fern.' 

u * Euth Hall ' proves herself capable of ingrati- 
tude. Her earliest benefactor, the kind-hearted 
and benevolent man who first encouraged and 
rewarded her timid efforts, has not been safe from 
her attacks, even in the grave. Later friends 
have been as unhesitatingly deserted and abused. 
Well may they feel ' how sharper than a serpent's 
tooth it is, to have a thankless' friend. By the 
aid of these, she stepped from obscurity into pub- 
lic notice, and now ' has no farther occasion for 
her stepping-stones.' 

"But self-esteem, ingratitude, and want of filial 
piety, are venial sins compared with the irreve- 
rence for things sacred, which sullies the pages of 
' Euth Hall.' The conversation of the dress- 
maker, that of Mr. Ellet with his ministerial 
friend, the allusion to Hyacinth's description of 
the Saviour, with many other briefer passages, 
had they been written by Dickens, would have 
been pronounced impious. Written by a professed 
Christian, what then shall we call them? Filial 



FANNY FERN". 18£ 

disrespect and religious irreverence are blended ir 
almost every page. 

"But 'Kuth Hall' is represented as a model 
woman, and an exemplary Christian. All tha> 
1 Fanny Fern's ' descriptive talent could do to 
throw a charm about her character has been done. 
Whether the defects of the heroine thus uninten- 
tionally betrayed, may not lessen our desire to 
copy this model, we will leave the unprejudiced 
reader to judge. One deeply read in human 
nature has said, 

" l Sweet are the uses of adversity 

Which like the toad, ugly and venomous, 
Wears yet a precious jewel in its head.' 

" Knowing how ' sweet are the uses of adver- 
sity' rightly received and improved, we cannot 
but regret that ' Fanny Fern's ' adversity should 
have left to her so much of the ' venomous/ 

"Out of four hundred pages in ' Kuth Hall' 
seventy-five are entirely blank. Had the remain- 
ing pages been left equally so, we believe it would 
have been better for ' Fanny Fern ' and for the 
world." 



XLI. 

THE GOOD-NATUEED BACHELOE. 

fpHIS individual, Fanny Fern says: — "Is jolly, 
sleek, and rolly-pooly. Lifts all the little 
school-girls over the mud-puddles, and kisses them 
when he lands them on the other side. Ad- 
mires little babies, without regard to the shape 
of their noses, or the strength of their lungs. 
Squeezes himself into an inflnitessimal fragment, 
in the corner of an omnibus, to make room for 
that troublesome invidual one — More! Vacates 
his seat any number of times at a crowded lecture, 
for distressed looking single ladies. Orders stupid 
cab-drivers off the only dry crossing, to save a 
pretty pair of feet from immersion, and don't 
forget to look the other way when their owner 
gathers up the skirts of her dress to trip across. 
Is just as civil to a shop-girl as if she were a 



FANNY FERN. 187 

Duchess; pays regularly for his newspaper, lends 
his umbrella and goes home with a wet beaver ; 
has a clear conscience, a good digestion, and 
believes the women to be all angels with their 
wings folded up. Here's hoping matrimony may 
never undeceive him I " 



XLIL 

CATCHING THE DEAR. — BY FANNY 
FERN. 

11 A Roman lady who takes a liking to a foreigner does not 
cast her eyes down when he looks at her, but fixes them upon 
him long and with evident pleasure. If the man of her 
choice feels the like sentiment, and asks — ' Are you fond of 
me ? ' she replies with the utmost frankness, ' Yes, my 
dear.' ;? 

"yOU double-distilled little simpleton ! don't you 
know better than that ? Don't you know that 
courtship is like a vast hunting party? — all the 
pleasure lies in the pursuit f That the sport is all 
over when the deer is caught? Certainly; you 
don't catch an American girl ' doing as the Romans 
do. 7 She understands the philosophy of the thing, 
and don't drop down like a shot pigeon at the first 
arrow from Cupid's quiver. If she- is wounded 
ever so bad, she spreads her wings and flies off, 



FANNY FERN. 189 

alighting here, there, and everywhere ; leading her 
pursuer through bog, ditch and furrow ; sometimes 
flapping her bright wings close to his face, and 
then, out of sight — the mischief knows where — to 
return again the next minute. In this way she 
finds out how much trouble he is willing to take 
for her ; and the way he knows how to prize her 
when she is caught would astonish your Eoman 
comprehension, my dear. 

" Now, I never saw a masculine Koman, but I 
will just tell you, in passing, that American gen- 
tlemen go by the rule of contraries. If there are 
any of them whom you desire most particularly not 
to be bored with, all you have to do is to make a pre- 
tence of the most intense desire for their acquaint- 
ance; and vice- versa. 

11 Bless my soul ! you haven't* got so far as A, 
B, C ; you are in an awful benighted state for 
a female. I labored under the impression that 
the Foreign Mission Society had attended to the 
evangelization of Eome. I'll have some 'col- 
porteurs' sent over, without loss of time — you 
little verdant Abigail ! saying ' yes, my dear,' the 
minute you are ' looked at! ' If I hadn't so many 
irons in the fire I'd attend to your education 
myself, you poor, ignorant little heathen ! " 



XLIII. 

HELEN, THE VILLAGE ROSE-BUI). 

HPHE following tearful sketch was contributed by 
Fanny Fern to the True Flag, under the name 
of l Olivia.' It is one of Fanny's sweetest efforts. 

" You couldn't help loving our £ Tillage Eose- 
bud.' Not because she was beautiful, though 
those pouting lips and deep blue eyes were fair to 
see; nor because her form had caught the grace 
of the waving willow ; nor for the gleaming bright- 
ness of her golden hair. But because her sable 
dress bespoke your tender pity for the orphan; 
and for the thousand little nameless acts of love 
and kindness, prompted by her gentle and affec- 
tionate heart. 

" The first sweet violets that opened their blue 
eyes to greet the balmy spring, the earliest fruits 



FANNY FERN. 191 

of summer, and autumn's golden favors, were laid 
as trophies at her feet. For each and all, she had 
a gentle, kindly word, and a beaming smile ; none 
felt that their offerings would be overlooked or 
slighted, because they were unpretending. 

" Helen Gray's means and home were humble, 
but the apartment she occupied in the house of the 
kind Widow More might have vied for taste and 
comfort with many more expensively furnished. 
The tasteful arrangement of a few choice books 
and pictures ; the flower-stand, with its wealth of 
sweet blossoms ; the tiny porcelain vase, that daily 
chronicled the hopes of her rustic admirers as ex- 
pressed in the shape of rose-buds, heart's-ease, 
mignonette, and the like ; the snowy curtain, 
looped gracefully away from the window, over 
which the wild-rose and honey-suckle formed a 
fairy frame for the sweet face that so often bewil- 
dered the passing traveller — many an hour did she 
sit there, watching the fleecy cloud ; the fragant 
meadow, through which the tiny stream wound 
like a thread of silver ; the waving trees, with 
their leafy music; the church, with its finger of 
faith pointing to Heaven ; and the village grave- 
yard, where were peacefully pillowed the gray- 
haired sire and loving mother, whom she stili 



192 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

mourned ; and each and all wound their own spell 
around the heart and fancy of the orphan Helen. 

" But there is yet another spell that holds her in 
its silken fetters. Ah, little Helen ! by those 
morning walks and star-lit rambles, by that rose 
fresh with dew, glittering amid your ringlets, by 
those dainty little notes, that bring such a bright 
flush to your cheek and add such lustre to your 
eyes ; you are a plighted maiden. 

" Harry Lee knew well how to woo, and win 
1 the village rose-bud.' Master of a handsome for- 
tune, he had early exhausted all the sources of en- 
joyment to be found in his native city. For the 
last three years he had been a voluntary exile in 
foreign lands; he had daguerreotyped upon his 
memory all that was grand, majestic and lovely, 
in natural beauty ; all that was perfect in painting 
and sculpture. He had returned home, weary in 
the search of pleasure, sick of artificial manners 
and etiquette, longing for something that would 
interest him. 

" 1 1 such a mood he met Helen. Her naive man- 
ners, her innocdnt and childish beauty, captivated 
his iancy. He was rich enough to be able to 
pleare himself in the choice of a wife, and the 
orphan's sweet gentleness gave promise of a ready 
compliance with every selfish desire. As to Helen, 



FANNY FERN. 193 

she had only her own heart to ask. All the vil- 
lagers thought ' Mr. Lee was such a handsome man. 7 
Mr. Lee thought so himself. 

" Fair and bright shone the sun on Helen's 
bridal morning! No father, nor mother, nor 
brother, nor sister, were there to give the young 
bride away. She had yielded her innocent and 
guileles heart without a fear for the future. Her 
simple toilette required little care. The golden 
tresses, the graceful, symmetrical figure, the sweet 
face, over which the faint blush flitted with every 
passing emotion, could gain nothing by artificial 
adornment. 

u Helen could have been happy with her husband 
in a far less costly, less luxurious home ; but well 
did she grace its fair halls. Her perfect and in- 
tuitive tact served her in place of experience of 
the gay world. Her husband was amused as well 
as gratified at her ease and self-possession, and 
marked with pride the world's admiration of his 
choice. 

" It is needless to say how the orphan's heart 
went out to him who was all to her. "With what 
fond pride she looked up to him whom she believed 
to be all that was noble, good and true — how deli- 
cately she anticipated every wish, and dissipated 
by her sunny brightness every cloud of care. 



104 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

" How perfect and far-sighted that Wisdom that 
shrouds the future from our sight ! Who among 
us, with rude hand, would willingly draw back the 
dark curtain, and palsy the hearts now beating high 
with hope and promise ? 

" Time passed on, and Helen had another claim 
ant for her love. Never was infant so caressed by 
a doating mother ; never one whose little lamp of 
life needed such careful watching lest it should be 
extinguished. 

" Helen looked in vain to read in her husband's 
eyes the love she felt for her child. Its cries were 
intolerable to him, and the quiet and tedium of a 
sick-room annoying to the last degree. He missed 
the light step that bounded to meet him on his re- 
turn, the bright face that smiled upon him at their 
quiet meal, the touch of fairy fingers on his heated 
brow. He thought not of a mother's pain ; he felt 
no gratitude for the life that had been spared him ; 
he had no admiration for the patient devotion of 
the young mother. He took not into account the 
monotony of a sick-room to a nervous, excitable 
temperament like Helen's; he looked not beyond 
his own selfish feelings. 

" Helen was grieved, yet she would not admit to 
herself that Harry had changed. She made an 
effort to appear stronger and brighter than she 



FANNY FERN. 195 

really was, and in the unselfishness of her love she 
said, ' It must be / who have changed ; I will yet 
win him back to me.' But her babe was feeble, 
and required much of her time, and Harry's brow 
would cloud with displeasure when the eyes of his 
gentle wife would fill with tears ; then with an im- 
patient ' pshaw ! ' he would leave the room, ' won 
dering what nurses were made for, if they couldn't 
keep babies from being a bore.' 

11 Poor Helen ! All this told upon her feeble 
health and spirits ; she became nervous and hys- 
terical, and trembled when she heard Harry's 
footsteps. She consulted her glass to see if sick- 
ness had robbed her of the charms that had won 
him. Still it reflected back the same wealth of 
golden hair, the fair, pure brow, the sweet blue 
eyes. The rose had faded from her cheek, 'tis true, 
but that would bloom again with exercise and fresh 
air ; and so she redoubled her attentions, patiently 
counting the tedious hours of his unwonted ab- 
sence, nor met him with an ungentle word or look 
of reproach on his return. 

" Helen had often met, at the house of a friend 
of Harry's, a young widow lady by the name of 
Melville. One day her husband told her that he 
wished an invitation to be sent to her to make 



196 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

them a visit, adding, c she will cheer you up and 
help you appear more like yourself again.' 

" The next week found Norah Melville their 
guest. Married at the age of nineteen to a man 
the age of her father, she found herself a year after 
a widow, with unimpaired beauty, and a fortune 
sufficiently ample to cover every want or desire. 
She had a thorough knowledge of human nature, 
and was a perfect woman of the world. Her 
figure was tall and queenly, she had large liquid 
black eyes, a complexion of marble paleness, a 
profusion of raven black hair, and a voice like the 
wind-harp in its sweetness. She knew that eyes 
like hers were made for use, and she acted upon that 
principle. 

" Nothing could exceed her kindness to Helen, 
who only saw that her husband's old glad smile 
had come back again, and that he was once more 
gay and cheerful. 

" Mrs. Melville sang them all her choicest songs, 
always appeared in an unexceptionable toilette, 
displayed a foot equal to Cinderella's, and was, by 
turns, pensive or gay, thoughtful or witty, brilliant 
or sad ; but in all bewitching / 

" Helen could see nothing exceptionable in her 
manners or conversation, and agreed with the rest 
of her admirers that she was a ' splendid woman.' 



FANNY FERN. 197 

" One day, as they sat at dinner, a proposal was 
made by Harry that they should attend the theatre 
that evening. Helen dared not leave her child 
until so late an hour, but begged them not to stay 
at home on her account. When the hour arrived 
she herself placed the spotless camelia in Mrs. 
Melville's raven hair, clasped the glittering dia- 
mond bracelet upon her fair, round arm, and went 
back, in the guilelessness of her trusting heart, to 
her child's cradle. 

" At length, weary with its restlessness, she 
threw herself upon the bed and sank into a deep 
slumber. She dreamed of the flower-wreathed 
cottage where her childhood was passed, and in 
fancy she roamed with Harry in the sweet mea- 
dows, and revisited the old trysting-place under the 
trees by the river side, and heard his words of 
passionate love as in those golden days. She 
awoke and found the hour was late for Harry's 
return. Descending the stairs, she bent her foot- 
steps toward the parlor. 

"Transfixed, spell-bound, what has hushed the 
tread of those tiny, slipperless feet upon the soft 
carpet ? 

" The moonbeams fell brightly through the largo 
bay window upon the fair Norah. Her opera- 
cloak had fallen carelessly at her side, displaying 



198 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

her matchless neck and snowy arms. Her eyes, 
those speaking, bewildering eyes, were bent upon 
Harry, who sat on a low ottoman at her feet. His 
hair was pushed carelessly back from his broad 
white brow, and Helen was no stranger to the 
look with which he gazed upon Mrs. Melville. 
Musically slow, but with dreadful distinctness, fell 
upon her ear the words, 

" ' Nor ah, I love you.' 

"In that short sentence was compressed for the 
gentle wife the agony of death. None but those 
who have given a warm, living heart into un- 
worthy keeping, may know such torture. 

" Helen spoke not, nor gave other sign of her 
presence. Slowly, mechanically, she returned to 
her room, and, as she sank into a chair, the words 
c My God, pity me ! ' were wrung from her soul's 
anguish. 

" When Harry returned, she sat cold and pale, 
swaying her figure gently to and fro, slowly re- 
peating, 

" { Norah, I love you ! Norah, I love you ! ' 

"In the lunatic asylum of , may now be 

seen ' the Tillage Eosebud.' God forgive the care- 
less hand that so rudely plucked its fresh beauty, 
but to blight its fair promise, and cast it aside as a 
withered thing. 



FANNY FERN. 199 

"The world still takes by the hand, as an honor- 
able man, the gay Harry Lee; but, in the still 
midnight hour, a gentle, tearful voice, slowly 
repeats to his ear alone, amid unquiet slumbers, 
the words, — ' Nbrah, I hveyru I ' " 



XLIV. 

SINGLE BLESSEDNESS. 

TTTIIAT a cheerful, happy, self-congratulating old 
maid was lost when Fanny became a wife. 
Only read this extract : — 

" c All articles of gentlemen's wearing apparel made — to 

ORDER.' 

" Saints and angels ! only think of that ! "Well, 
thank a kind Providence I never was married. 
No tyrannical frock-coats, or 'dress-coats/ or 
Petershams, profane my closets. No vests, or 
stocks, or dickies crowd my nice laces, and ribbons, 
and muslins. No overbearing cane keeps com- 
pany with my silken parasolette. No lumbering 
great boots tread on the toes of my little slippers 
and gaiters. Nobody kicks my spinster foot under 
the table to stop me in the middle of a sentence 
that I'm bent upon finishing. Nothing on the 
wide earth that's ' made to order ,' finds admittance 
into my single-blessed territories. I should be all 
teeth and claws if there did ! " 



XLV. 

THAT MRS. JONES. 

"I17E don't quite agree with Fanny in thinking 
women ought to bear all the blame. Eve never 
would have thought of stealing apples, if Adam 
hadn't been in a hurry for his supper. But in this 
instance Mrs. Jones was wrong. This is the story, 
as Fanny tells it : 

"'Heaven be praised for Sunday,' said Mrs. 
Jones ; ' when omnibus horses and women can rest 
from their labors. Mr. Jones ? Bless my soul, the 
man has gone ; ' and she raised herself on her elbow, 
and pushed back the ruffled border of her night- 
cap, as if to make quite sure of her single blessed- 
ness. 'Tommy?' said she, to a little trundle-bed 
occupant ; ' here, Tommy, you always know every- 
thing you ought not to ; where's your father ? ' 
9* 



202 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

"'Oh, he went off an hour since/ said the ur- 
chin ; ' took his money-trunk and went down 
street.' 

" Mrs. Jones leaped into the middle of the floor, 
examined the contents of wardrobe and closets. 
Yes — his clothes were all there ; she couldn't de- 
cide whether she was a ' California widow ' or not ; 
the chances were about even. 

'"Six little mouths to feed,' said she; 'house- 
rent to pay, and myself to keep out of mischief. 
Shouldn't have minded his going, if he hadn't kid- 
napped that money-trunk ; he was getting dyspep- 
tic and fussy, rather inclining to be ancient; 1 and 
she shook out her curls from under her cap, and 
attempted to finish her breakfast toilette. 

"' T-o-m-m-y Jones,' said she; 'leave off shav- 
ing that cat, with your father's razor. Do you 
know what day it is ? ' 

" ' Well, you'd better ask father,' said the young 
hopeful ' There he is, coming up the street with a 
money-trunk in his hand, of a Sunday morning.' 

" ' M-r. Jo-ne-s,' said his spouse, as that gentle- 
man came in, and walking- so close up to him that 
their noses touched — ' have you been imbibing? 
What did you get up so early for ? and where on 
earth have you been ? and which way did you go ? 
and what have you been about ? Make haste, and 



FANNY FERN. 203 

tell me ! Pretty example for you to set this bap- 
tized Tommy — to be running round, Sunday morn- 
ing, before sunrise, with a money-trunk under your 
arm. What do you suppose our minister '11 think ? ' 
"'Sunday morning/ 1 said Jones, rubbing his 
forehead — ' Sunday morning ! That accounts ! 
Couldn't think, for the life of me, why there wasn't 
a window-shutter taken down in the street. Been 
down to the store, as true as I'm a sinner ; made 
the fire ; opened the shutters, and hung out all the 
calicoes and ribbons and streamers I could find. 
Sunday Morning/ Well, it's all your fault, Mrs. 
Jones ; how was I to know ? You didn't have salt 
fish for dinner, yesterday, though it was Saturday — ■ 
that's the only way I know when Sunday comes. 
Shouldn't make innovations, Mrs. Jones; it's all 
your fault. There never was a commandment 
broke yet, that a vjoman wasn't at the bottom 
of it.'" 



XLVI. 

mrs. jupiter's soliloquy, taken 
down in short-hand. — by fanny 

FE RN. 

CITTINGr is the only posture for deliberation. 
Certainly. Don't ' the House ' always ' sit ' 
when any national egg is natching ? The philo- 
sophy and naturalness of the maxim is un mistake- 
ably obvious. It accounts, too, for something I've 
never been able to comprehend, viz., how in the 
name of all that's astounding I became Mrs. Jonas 
Jupiter. I was not sitting when Jonas laid his 
moustache at my feet. If the Legislature would 
give me a chance to reconsider the subject, gun- 
powder shouldn't take me off my chair till I did 
it ample justice. Jonas probably knew what he 
was ^bout, when he imposed on my simplicity 
that way. Nicodemus! to think I should hav« 



FANNY FERN. 205 

made such a life-time mistake, all for want of a 
chair ! My veneration for furniture will be on the 
progressive for the future. I incline to the opin- 
ion that men are exceedingly artful. It's surpris- 
ing how like Moses they can talk, and how like 
Judas they can act. If it wasn't that I'm bound 
to collect their mental skeletons to hang up in my 
dissecting-room, I should eschew the whole sex. 
But 'tis a pretty little amusement to the female 
naturalist to label the different specimens. As far 
as my scientific research extends, they have one 
defect in common, viz., that where the heart should 
be, there is a decided vacuum. It is a trifling over- 
sight of Dame Nature's which her elbow should be 
jogged to rectify in her future productions. This 
little amendment in the masculine organization 
would be excruciatingly refreshing to the female 
lover of variety. No amount of brains, in my 
opinion, is an equivalent for this omission, but 
when heart and brains are both lacking/ — saints 
and angels, what an abortion ! " 



XLVII. 

THE UNFAITHFUL LOVER. 

T17E quote, by permission, from the files of the 
True Flag, a second sketch, contributed to 
its columns, by Olivia, alias Fanny Fern. 

" Kate Stanley was a brilliant, sparkling bru- 
nette. Wo to the rash youth who exposed his 
heart to her fascinations ! If he were not annihi- 
lated by the witching glance of her bright eye, he 
would be sure to be caught by the dancing dimple 
that played 'hide-and-seek' so roguishly in her 
rosy cheek, or the little rounded waist that sup- 
ported her faultless bust, or the tiny feet that crept, 
mice-like, in and out from under the sweeping folds 
of her silken robe. 

" I am sorry to say, Miss Kitty was an arrant 
coquette. She angled for hearts with the skill of a 



FANNY FERN. 207 

practised sportsman, and was never satisfied till 
she saw them quivering and bleeding at her feet; 
then, they might flounce and flutter, and twist and 
writhe at their leisure, it was no farther concern 
of hers. She was off for a new subject. 

" One fine morning she sat listlessly in her bou- 
doir, tapping one little foot upon the floor, and 
sighing for a new sensation, when a note was 
handed her. It ran thus : 

"'Dear Kitty: — Our little cottage home is 
looking lovely, this ' leafy June.' Are you not 
weary of city life? Come and spend a month 
with us, and refresh heart and body. You will 
find nothing artificial here, save yourself/ 

' Yours, Nelly.' 

" ' Just the thing,' said Kitty, ' but the girl must 
be crazy, or intolerably vain, to bring me into such 
close contact with her handsome lover — I might as 
well try to stop breathing as to stop flirting, and the 
country of all places, for a flirtation! The girl 
must be non-compos ; however, it's her own affair, 
not mine ; ' and she glanced triumphantly at her 
beautiful face, and threaded her jewelled fingers 
through her long ringlets, and conquered him — in 
imagination I 

" * When do you expect your friend ? ' said a 



208 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

laughing young girl to Nelly. ' From the descrip- 
tions I have had of her, your bringing her here, 
will be something akin to the introduction of Satan 
into Paradise. You wouldn't find me guilty of 
such a folly, were I engaged to your handsome 
Fitz. Now you know, Nelly dear, that although 
you are fascinating and intellectual, you have no 
pretensions to beauty, and there are few men who 
prize a gem unless it is handsomely set, however 
great its value. Now be warned in time, and send 
him off on a pilgrimage till her visit is over, I 
won't bet on his constancy I ' 

" ' On the contrary,' said Nelly, as she rose 
slowly from the little couch where she was reclin- 
ing, and her small figure grew erect and her large 
eyes lustrous, ' I would marry no man who could 
not pass through such an ordeal and remain true 
to me. I am, as you see, hopelessly plain and un- 
graceful ; yet, from my earliest childhood, I have 
been a passionate worshipper of beauty. I never 
expected to win love — I never expected to marry 
— and when Fitz, with all his glorious beauty, 
sued for my hand, I could not convince myself 
that it was not all a bewildering dream. It was 
such a temptation to a heart so isolated as mine ; 
and eloquently it plead for itself. When I drank 
in the music of his voice, I said, ' surely I must be 



FANNY FERN. 209 

lovely tin his eyes ; else why has he sought me ? ' 
'J hi, in my solitary moments, I said, sadly, ■ there 
a i ispute the prize with me here. He 

is deceiving, uimself; he is only in love with 
nature I the beautiful about us. He has mis- 
taken his own heart.' Then again, I would ask 
myself, 'can nothing but beauty win a noble heart? 
are all my intellectual gifts valueless ? ' And still, 
Fitz unable to understand my contradictory moods, 
passionately urged his suit. It needed not that 
waste of eloquence ; my heart was already captive. 
And now, by the intensity of that happiness of 
which I know myself to be capable, I will prove 
him. Kate's beauty — Kate's witchery, shall be 
the test ! If his heart remains loyal to me, I am 
his. If not — ' and her cheek grew pale, and large 
tears gathered slowly in her eyes — ' I have saved 
myself a deeper misery.' 

" Fitz Allan 'had travelled,' and that is gener- 
ally understood to mean to go abroad and remain 
a period of time long enough to grow a fierce 
beard and fiercer moustache, and cultivate a 
thorough contempt for everything in your own 
country. This was not true of Fitz Allan. It 
had only bound him the more closely to home and 
friends. His splendid person and cultivated man- 
ners had been a letter of recommendation to hirn 
14 



210 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

in cultivated society. He was no fop, and yet he 
was fully aware of these personal advantages. 
(What handsome man is not?) He had trophies 
of all kinds, to attest his skillful generalship ; such 
as dainty satin slippers, tiny kid gloves, faded 
roses, ringlets of all colors, ebony, flaxen and 
auburn, and bijouterie without limit. 

Happy Fitz ! What spell bound thee to the 
plain, but loveable Nelly? A nature essentially 
feminine ; a refined, cultivated taste ; a warm, 
passionate heart. Didst thou remember when 
thou listenedest to that most musical of musical 
voices, and sat hour after hour, magnetised by its 
rare witchery as it glanced gracefully and skillfully 
from one topic to another, that its possessor had 
not the grace and beauty of a Hebe or a Yenus ? 

"It was a bright, moonlight evening. Fitz and 
Nelly were seated in the little rustic parlor open- 
ing upon the piazza. The moon shone full upon 
Kate, as she stood in the low door-way. Her sim- 
ple white dress was confined at the waist by a 
plain, silken cord. Her fair, white shoulders rose 
gracefully from the snowy robe. Her white arms, 
as they were crossed upon her breast, or raised 
above her head to catch playfully the long tendrils 
of the woodbine, as the wind swept them past her 
forehead, gleamed fair in the moonlight, and each 



FANNY FERN. 211 

and all had their bewildering charm. She seated 
herself upon the low door-step. Song after song 
was borne upon the air. Her eyes now flashing 
with the enthusiasm of an Improvisatrice — then 
soft, and lustrous, and liquid, and — dangerous I 
Nelly's heart beat quick — a deep crimson spot 
glowed upon her cheek, and, for once, she was 
beautiful. 

M Kate, apparently, took but little notice of the 
lovers, out not an expression that flitted across 
the fine face of Fitz Allan passed unnoticed by 
her. And she said proudly to herself — £ I" have 
conquered him I ' 

" And so the bright summer months passed by, 
and they rambled through the cool woods and rode 
through the winding paths and sang to the quiet 
stars in the dim, dewy night. 

******* 

" ' Fie ! Mr. Fitz Allan ! What would Nelly 
say, to see you kneeling here at my feet? You 
forget you are an affianced lover,' said the gay 
beauty, as she mockingly curled her rosy lip ; 
1 when you address such flattering language to 
me/ 1 

" ' I only know that you are beautiful as a dream, 1 
said the bewildered Fitz, as he passionately kissed 
the jewelled hand that lay unresistingly in his own. 



212 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 

" That night Fitz might be seen pacing his room 
with rapid strides, crushing in his hands a delicate 
note, in which was written these words : 

tc l The moon looks on many brooks ; 
The brook sees but one moon? 

1 Farewell! 

• Kelly.' " 



XLVIII. 

PETTICOAT PARLIAMENT. 

" ' We must do our aspiring sisters the justice to say that 
several of them made very good speeches, and manifested a 
real talent for debate quite equal to that displayed by half the 
he-fellows we send to Congress. # # # We opine no- 
thing serious will come of these Women's Rights' Conventions. 
If it amuses the darlings, to insist upon doing their own 
voting and fighting, let 'em talk on. If they go too far we 
can adopt measures and compel them to do their own kissing ! 
They must have recreation of some kind, and this is a good 
substitute for fancy balls, expensive millinery, &c. Strong- 
minded women have a soul above buttons. Let the blessed 
angels weep and resolve if it relieves their minds.' " — New 
York Sunday Times. 

\TOW I'll wager a pair of new kid gloves that 
the writer of the above article is a whole-souled, 
loveable, handsome son of Adam. If all the men 
were like him the women would lay down their 
arms and take his / — there'd be no more drumming 
up recruits for petticoat parliaments — they'd ' re- 
solve ' to stay at home and ' do as they oughter.' 



214 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 

I think there should be a raffle for him ! (You 
don't find such a man every day!) He takes a 
liberal view of things — you don't catch him but 
toning his coat up to his chin, folding his arms, 
strutting round and looking daggers at us, like the 
rest of the men. No, he isn't on the 'anxious 
seat ' — he isn't ! He just takes of! his hat to us, 
like a gentleman, and says, with an irresistible 
smile : — ' Dear ladies — there's a soft place in your 
hearts somewhere, after all. Who's afraid! Your 
gunpowder plots will all end in smoke ! Three 
cheers for the ladies ! ' Now that's doing the 
thing handsomely. 

" Nobody but a very c wiry sister ' could hold out 
against such an incarnation of good-humored gal- 
lantry. It's only the bad husbands who see their 
own ugly mental phizes in the looking-glass these 
1 female philanthro-pesses ' hold up to them, that 
raise such a breeze about it. ' It's only the truth 
that wounds,' as the French proverb says. 

" If / had been of that convention, I should just 
draw off my glove, shake hands with that * Sunday 
Times ' writer, and sign an everlasting and repentant 
recantation of all incendiary resolutions, — now, 
henceforth and forever ! Pass him round ; send 
us a lock of his hair! — give us his daguerreo- 
type!" 



XLIX. 

FANNY FERN ON WIDOWERS. 

u ' Is this the heart that beat so tenderly for Sarah ; yea, and 
for Anna afterwards, and then for Maria, and in the course 
cf time for Margaret Jane ! ' " — True Flag. 

A S Cupid is your witness, the very same ! "Why 
not? No computing the times a masculine 
heart can be damaged, repaired, cracked, broken, 
mended, and be just as good as new ! How often 
it can be tossed, like a shuttlecock, from one fair 
hand to another, and lose none of its freshness or 
intrinsic value. How fervently it can adore every 
daughter of Eve the sun shines upon ! How 
instantaneous may be the transition from the dirge 
note of sorrow to 'Love's Quickstep ! ' How un- 
necessary it is, to be off with the old love, before 
it is on with the new, 

" Oh ! it is an exhaustless fountain, that heart ! 



216 

No bounds to its capacities ! A widower, wnose 
wives had been ' legion,' was once heard to say : — 
4 The more I loved my Elenore, the more I loved 
my Mary ; the more I loved my Mary, the more I 
loved my Anna ; ' &c. Imagination fails me to 
picture, at this rate of progression, the ' unwritten ' 
felicity of the last feminine, on the marital list I 
Venus 1 the very thought paralyzes my pen ! " 



L. 

AN HOUR WITH FANNY'S FATHER. 

CINCE the previous pages were prepared, we 
have been favored with an interesting history 
of a recent interview with Fanny Fern's father, by 
a gentleman of Boston, upon whose statements 
implicit reliance may be placed. 

As any facts relating to the venerable parent of 
so distinguished a woman as Fanny, must be of 
interest to the public, we have concluded to devote 
a chapter to a condensed account of the interview 
in question. 

Deacon Willis was found at his office in School 
street, at an early hour on a winter morning, 
engaged in looking over some business matters 
with his book-keeper. The veteran publisher is 
described as a person rather below the medium 
stature; gray-haired and feeble; slightly bent with 
10 



218 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

age and care ; dressed in a sober suit of black, 
with white cravat, and spectacles. 

The conversation turning upon " Kuth Hall," 
the old gentleman shook his head sadly. Had he 
read the book ? Oh, no ! he had not the heart to 
do that. He had understood that he was abused 
in it; but at his time of life, with the gates of 
eternity drawing so near, and the world receding 
so fast behind him, he felt no desire to know what 
an ungrateful child would say of him. As far as 
he could learn, the book had been read by none of 
his family : they passed it by, as children shun a 
reptile in their path. But he had seen notices of 
it in the newspapers, from which he had learned 
something concerning Fanny's treatment of hej 
relatives. It was needless for him to say how un 
just that treatment was. He had no defence to 
make. And as for retaliation — he was still her 
father ; she was his child ; he grieved not on 
his own account, but for her sake — not because 
evil was said of him in his old age, but because it 
was in her heart to say it : what retaliation then 
could he seek ? 

This last was not the first, nor by any means 
the greatest trial Fanny had caused her parents. 
From her girlhood, she had been a wild and 
troublesome child. A total disregard for the feel- 



FANNY FERN. 219 

ings of others, was a distinguishing characteristic 
of her disposition. Selfish and wilful, all attempts 
to control her, excited only passion and spite. No 
pains had been spared to soften and tame her. 
The most celebrated teachers were employed. Not 
only did Miss Catherine E. Beecher try her skill 
upon her, but schools at Pittsfield, Mass., at Lon- 
donderry, K H., and at several other places, were 
patronized, one after the other, with quite indif- 
ferent success. At the termination of each fruit- 
less effort to mould her character, Miss Fanny was 
returned, wild and wilful as ever, upon hes 
parents' hands. 

In the course of conversation, Fanny's com 
plaints of neglect and cruelty on the part of hei 
friends, were alluded to. Again the old man shook 
his head sorrowfully. These complaints, he said, 
were utterly without foundation ; and to this state- 
ment he added a fact, which Fanny and her 
advisers will find it difficult to put out of sight. 
During the brief widowhood of the self-styled 
" Euth Hall," her own father alone, paid out money 
to the amount of eight hundred dollars, for her 
support. For this, Mr. Willis can show receipts. 
Add an equal sum contributed by her husband's 
father, and we have not less than sixteen hundred 



220 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

dollars — certainly a snug little pension for Kuth, 
and her children to starve upon. 

In this connection, the old gentleman had occa- 
sion to remark, that, had he been less liberal in 
the education and support of his children, he might 
not now be compelled to go early in the morning 
to his office, and remain late in the afternoon in all 
sorts of weather, exerting his feeble strength to 
obtain a livelihood, at an age when quiet and rest 
from toil are most to be desired. 

Instead of becoming less troublesome to her 
friends as she grew older, Fanny seemed to 
acquire with years additional power to harass and 
distress them. At last came her separation from 
Mr. Farrington, accompanied with inexpressible 
mortification and pain to her family. 

" Notwithstanding her rash and undutiful con- 
duct they once more came to her relief, and she 
was permitted to draw the same pension as when 
a widow. She now commenced writing for the 
papers, and under the stimulus of her first success 
as an authoress, assumed an air of insufferable 
insolence toward the old man, who, all her life, 
had borne so patiently with her temper. More 
than once she had angrily charged him with false- 
hood to his face. Her letters to him were foolishly 



FANNY FERN. 221 

impertinent. It was with reluctance and grief 
that Deacon Willis spoke of these things ; but 
they seemed wrung from him by a powerful sense 
of the wrongs which had been heaped upon his 
head. 

When, at length, it was well known that Mrs. 
Farrington was in the receipt of liberal pay from 
the newspapers for which she wrote, her father 
warned her, that, if she sent him any more such 
unwomanly and unfilial notes as generally accom- 
panied her applications for money, her pension 
would be stopped. She defied him, and the threat 
was carried into execution. And now Fanny has 
sought her revenge. 

The old man spoke affectionately of his son, Mr. 
N. P. Willis, whose touching tribute to his father 
has been recently published. Throughout the in- 
terview he had shown a subdued and Christian 
temper, uttering unpleasant truths " more in sor- 
row than in anger." It was affecting to listen to 
him ; and our informant states, that on coming 
away, the reflection that this was the man whom 
the "Old Ellet" in Fanny's book was intended 
to caricature — a fact he had quite lost sight of— 
excited a revulsion of feeling, which he devoutly 
wished might be experienced by a few of the 
adorers of poor, abused "Kuth Hall." 



LI 



JOHN BULL'S OPINION OF RUTH HALL. 

TI7E clip the following critique on " Euth Hall * 
" * from the columns of the Albion, an able organ 
of English sentiment. 

" There are some books of which it is difficult 
to speak as one could wish, for a variety of reasons. 
Ruth Hall is such a one. "We have watched the 
career of Fanny Fern from the first, and have seen 
but little in it to commend. Suddenly elevated to a 
pinnacle of popularity, she has demeaned herself as 
no right-minded woman should have done, and no 
sensitive-minded woman could have done — throw- 
ing out insinuations, that she was a very ill-used 
woman ; that her family neglected her ; and finally, 
- that she ' had no family.' Her ' Fern Leaves,' of 
which two series are before the public, are more 



FANNY FERN. 223 

or less an expansion of these or of congenial ideas 
— neglected wives and sisters, hard-hearted fathers 
and uncles, fatherless and suffering children, and 
young but talented authoresses seeking a liveli- 
hood by the pen, forming the bulk of the work. 
'Euth Hall' harps on the same strings ; showing 
how Euth Hall got married ; how Mr. Hall died ; 
how Mr. Hall's 'aged parents,' and the blood rela- 
tives of Euth Hall, nee Ellet, chaffered about help- 
ing her in her time of need, and how they didn't ; 
how she took to authorship, and wrote in the 
newspapers under the signature ' Floy ; ' how she 
became famous, and humbled her brother Hya- 
cinth, who had the good sense to discourage her 
from the first; and how she has a friend in the 
person of a Mr. Walter. This, and more of the 
same sort, is the plot of ' Euth Hall.' The book 
is ostensibly published as a novel ; but is intended 
— if general report may be believed — as an auto- 
biography of Fanny Fern herself. If designed for 
a novel, it is clumsy in construction, and full of 
false sentiment and questionable morality. If 
meant for an autobiography, it is a piece of malice 
and impertinence. Admitting — what we do not 
for a moment believe — the truth of the narrative, 
we see no reason why it should be published, but 
many excellent ones why it should not. An old 



224 LIFE AND 

proverb says, { there is a skeleton in every family. ' 
It does not become this egotistical and querulous 
dame, if she have one in hers, to parade it before 
the world. It would be wiser to shut the door 
on it. Such a book as this will win its writer 
some praise — for there is talent in it — and give 
her even more notoriety than she appears to pos- 
sess. We cannot, however, say that on the whole 
it is creditable to the female head or the femalf 
heart." 



LII 

ORTHODOX TESTIMONY. 

HPHE Congregational Journal, Concord, N. H., 
concludes a somewhat severe review, in the 
folowing emphatic manner : — 

" The chapter wanting in the life of ( Euth 
Hall,' perhaps could be furnished by Mr. Samuel 
P. Farrington, of Chicago, 111., if he was her second 
husband till he obtained a divorce from her ; and 
that such is the fact, who will deny ? Who that 
knows will take the responsibility of denying that 
1 Euth Hall ' alias ' Fanny Fern,' is the daughter 
of Deacon Nathaniel Willis, of Boston, and that 
1ST. P. Willis is her brother? And who will deny 
that her first husband was a Mr. Eldredge, whose 
father was a physician, and is now dead ? Is not 
the ' old Doctor ' the father of ' Harry ? ' Is not 
15 



226 LIFE 

'Mr. Ellet' the father of 'Kuth,' and is not 'Hya- 
cinth. ' her brother ? are questions which she will 
not answer in the negative. We shall not our- 
selves attempt any description of this book, but 
having knowledge of some facts in the history of 
its author, and believing that the outlines above 
quoted are just, we have encumbered our columns 
with the matter. If by so doing, we shall be the 
means of increasing the readers of 'Kuth Hall,' 
the responsibility of reading such an abominable 
production will rest on themselves and not us." 



LIII. 

ANOTHER FERN. 

T'VE been reading the Bible, to-day, and it strikes 
me that our foremothers were not very correct 
old ladies. Who flirted with the old serpent? 
How came Sampson's hair cut off and his peepers 
extinguished? Who perforated Jael's head with 
tenpenny nails? How came Jonah sent on a 
whale-ing voyage? Who helped Ananias tell 
fibs? Who put Job up to swearing? Who 
raised a perfect hurricane in good old Abram's 
house ! Who danced John the Baptist's head off 
his shoulders, hey ? I'd like to have you notice 
(that's all,) what a stock we all sprung from. 

"If ihey weren't tee-totally depraved, may I 
never find out which of 'em I descended from! 
They didn't seem to have the least consideration 
for future generations ' long since unborn.' Now 



228 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 

I don't calculate, myself, to feel responsible for 
their capers. I've read somewhere, in Byron, I 
believe, that every washtub must stand on its own 
pedestal I (or something like that.) I don't be- 
lieve in saddling my shoulders with their old- 
fashioned transgressions. 

" Curious, though, isn't it? the mischief women 
make in the world ? Great pity Noah hadn't set 
Mrs. Noah adrift when he ' took one of each kind 
in the ark." I should rather have stood my 
chance for a ducking, than to have been shut up 
with such a ' promiskus ■ men-agerie. Noah was 
a worthy old gentleman. No mention made of 
his getting tipsy but once, I believe." 



Nota Bene. — We cannot help being a little amused at Fanny's comical 
■want of Scriptural information. Our Bible represents Jael as a woman, not 
by any means " perforated with tenpenny nails," though she did try the "per- 
forating" experiment with excellent success, on the head of Sisera " the 
captain of Jabin's army." Oh, wondrous Fanny, those early Sabbath-school 
lessons must have been long ago forgotten ! 



LIV. 

"the best of men have their 
failings." 

"PAISTNY doesn't think so. She expresses her 
opinion as follows : — 

"I wish I could ever take up a paper that 
endorsed my liberal sentiments. I've always 
warped to the opinion that good men were as safe 
as homoeopathic pills. You don't suppose they 
ever patronize false words or false weights, false 
measures or false yardsticks ? You don't suppose 
they ever slander their neighbors after making a 
long-winded exhortation in a vestry meeting? 
You don't suppose they ever lift their beavers to a 
long purse, and turn their backs on a thread-bare 
coat? You don't suppose they ever bestow a 



230 LIFE AND 

charity to have it trumpeted in the newspapers ? 
You don't suppose when they trot devoutly to 
meeting twice a day on Sunday, that they over- 
haul their ledgers in the intermission ? You don't 
suppose they ever put doubtful-looking bank bills 
in the contribution box ? You don't suppose they 
ever pay their minister's salary in consumptive 
hens and damaged turkies ? I wish people were 
not so uncharitable and suspicious. It disgusts me 
with human nature. 

" Now if I once hear a man make a prayer, that's 
enough said. After that, Gabriel couldn't make 
me believe he was a sinner. If his face is of an 
orthodox length, and his creed is dyed in the wool, 
I consider him a prepared subject for the under- 
taker. If his toes are on an evangelical platform, 
I am morally certain his eyes never will go on a 
1 Tom Fool's errand.' If he has a proper reverence 
for a church-steeple, I stake my life on it, his 
conduct will be perpendicular. I should be per- 
fectly willing to pin my faith on his sleeve till the 
final consummation of all things. Yes, I've the 
most unswerving, indestructible, undying confi- 
dence in any man who owns a copy of Watts' 
Psalms and Hymns. Such a man never trips, or 
if he does, you never catch him at it I" 



LV. 

THE MISTAKE OF A LIFE-TIME. 

TN a very different spirit the following sketch 
was written: — 

11 A lover's quarrel ! A few hasty words, a 
formal parting between two hearts, that neither 
time nor distance could ever disunite ; then — a 
lifetime of misery ! 

11 Edith May stood before me in her bridal 
dress. The world was to be made to believe she 
was happy and heart-whole. I knew better. I 
knew that no woman who had once loved Gilbert 
Ainslie could ever forget him ; least of all such a 
heart as Edith's. She was pale as a snow-wreath ; 
and bent her head as gracefully as a water lily, in 
recognition of her numerous friends and admirers. 

" l What a sacrifice,' the latter muttered, between 



232 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OP 

their set teeth ! ' What a sacrifice,' my heart 
echoed back ! 

"Mr. Jefferson Jones was an ossified old 
bachelor. He had but one idea in his head, and 
that was, how to make money. There was only 
one thing he understood equally well, and that 
was, how to keep it. He was angular, prim, cold 
and precise; mean, grovelling, contemptible and 
cunning. 

" And Edith ! Our peerless Edith, whose lovers 
were ' legion ;' Edith, with her passionate heart, 
her beauty, grace, taste and refinement ; Edith to 
vow c love and honor ' to such a soulless block ! 
It made me shudder to think of it! I felt as 
though his very gaze was profanation. 

" Well, the wedding was over ; and she was 
duly installed mistress of Jefferson House. She 
had fine dresses, fine furniture, a fine equipage, 
and the stupidest possible encumbrance, in the 
shape of a husband. 

"Mr. Jefferson Jones was very proud of his 
bride ; firstly, because she added to his importance, 
secondly, because he plumed himself not a little in 
bearing off so a dainty a prize. It gave him a 
malicious pleasure to meet her old admirers, with 
the graceful Edith upon his arm. Of course she 



FANNY FERN. 233 

preferred him to them all ; else, why did she 
marry him? 

" Then how deferential she was in her manner 
since their marriage ; how very polite, and how 
careful to perform her duty to the letter. Mr. 
Jones decided, with his usual acumen, that there 
was no room for a doubt, on that point ! He 
noticed, indeed, that her girlish gaiety was gone ; 
but that was a decided improvement, according to 
his views. She was Mrs. Jones, now, and meant 
to keep all the whiskered popinjays at a respectful 
dtstance. He liked it ! 

" And so, through those interminable evenings, 
Edith sat, playing long, stupid games of chess with 
him, or listening (?) to his gains or losses in the 
way of trade ; or reading political articles of which 
the words conveyed no ideas to her absent mind. 

11 She walked through the busy streets, leaning on 
his arm, with an unseen form ever at her side ; and 
slept — (God forgive her I) next his heart, when hers 
was far away! But when she was alone! no 
human eye to read her sad secret ! her small hands 
clasped in agony, and her fair head bent to the 
very dust, — was he not avenged? 



"It was a driving storm ; Mr. Jones concluded 
to dine at a restaurant instead of returning home. 



234 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

He had just seated himself, and given his orders 
to the obsequious waiter, when his attention was 
attracted by the conversation of two gentleman 
near him. 

" l Have you seen la belle Edith, since her mar- 
riage, Harry ? ' 

" ' No ; I feel too much vexed with her. Such a 
splendid specimen of flesh and blood to marry 
such an idiot! all for a foolish quarrel with 
Ainslie. You never saw such a wreck as it has 
made of him. However, she is well punished ; for, 
with all her consummate tact and effort to keep up 
appearances, it is very plain that she is the most 
miserable woman in existence, as Mr. Jefferson 
Jones, whom I have never seen, might perceive, 
if he wasn't, as all the world says, the very prince 
of donkeys.' 

Jones seized his hat, and rushed into the open 
air, tugging at his neck-tie as if he was choking. 
Six times he went, like a comet, round the square ; 
then, setting his beaver down over his eyes, in a 
very prophetic manner, he turned his footsteps de- 
liberately homeward. It was but the deceitful 
calm before the whirlwind ! 

"He found Edith, calm, pale, and self-possessed, 
as usual. He was quite as much so, himself; even 
went so far as to compliment her on a coquettish 



FANNY FERN. 235 

little jacket that fitted her rounded figure very 
charmingly. 

" ' I'm thinking of taking a short journey, Edith,' 
said he, seating himself by her side, and playing 
with the silken cord and tassels about her waist. 
* As it is wholly a business trip, it would hamper 
me to take you with me — but you'll hear from me. 
Meanwhile, you know how to amuse yourself; 
hey, Edith V 

"He looked searchingly in her face. There was 
no conscious blush, no change of expression, no 
tremor of the frame. He might as well have 
addressed a marble statue. 

11 Mr. Jefferson Jones was posed ! Well, he bade 
her one of his characteristic adieus ; and when the 
door closed, Edith felt as if a mountain weight had 
been lifted off her heart. There was but one 
course for her to pursue. She knew it ; she had 
already marked it out. She would deny herself 
to all visitors ; she would not go abroad till her 
husband's return. She was strong in her purpose ; 
there should be no door left open for busy scandal 
to enter. Of Ainslie, she knew nothing, save that 
a letter reached her from him after her marriage, 
which she had returned unopened. 

" And so she wandered restlessly through those 
splendid rooms, and tried, by this self-inflicted 



236 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OP 

penance, to atone for the defection of her heart. 
Did she take her guitar, old songs they had sang 
together came unbidden to her lip ; that book, too, 
they had read. Oh, it was all misery I turn where 
she would 1 

" Day after day passed by — no letter from Mr. 
Jones ! The time had already passed that was 
fixed upon for his return, and Edith, nervous from 
close confinement and the weary inward struggle, 
started like a frightened bird, at every footfall. 

" Jt came at last, the letter, sealed with black I 
1 He had been accidentally drowned — his hat was 
found — all search for the body had been unavail- 
ing.' 

" Edith was no hypocrite. She could not mourn 
for him, save in the outward garb of woe ; but 
now that he was dead, conscience did its office. 
She had not, in the eye of the world, been untrue ; 
but there is an eye that searches deeper ! that scans 
thoughts as well as actions. 

" Ainslie was just starting for the continent by 
order of a physician, when the news reached him. 
A brief time he gave to decorum, and then they met ! 
It is needless to say what that meeting was. Days 
and months of wretchedness were forgotten like 
some dreadful dream. She was again his own 
Edith, sorrowing, repentant, and happy ! 



FANNY FEKN. 237 

11 They were sitting together, one evening ; 
Edith's hand was upon his shoulder, and her face 
radiant as a seraph's. They were speaking of their 
future home. 

" ' Any spot on the wide earth but this, dear 
Ainslie. Take me away from these painful asso- 
ciations.' 

11 ' Say you so, pretty Edith ? f said a well-known 
voice. ' I but tried that faithful heart of yours to 
prove it I Pity to turn such a pretty comedy into 
a tragedy, but I happen to be manager here, young 
man,' said Mr. Jones, turning fiercely towards the 
horror-struck Ainslie! 

" The revulsion was too dreadful. Edith sur- 
vived but a -'veek ; Ainslie became hopelessly 



LVI. 

A wife's devotion. 

T?ANNY has very nice ideas on this subject 
She says : — 

" ' Every wife needs a good stock of love to start 
with.' 

" DorCt she I You are upon a sick bed ! a little 
feeble thing lies upon your arm, that you might 
crush with one hand. You take those little velvet 
fingers in yours, close your eyes, and turn your 
head languidly to the pillow. Little brothers and 
sisters, Carry, and Harry, and Fanny, and Frank, 
and Willy, and Mary, and Kitty, (half a score) 
come tiptoeing into the room, * to see the new 
baby.' It is quite an old story to ' nurse,' who 
sits there like an automaton, while they give vent 
to their enthusiastic admiration of its wee toes and 



FANNY FERN. 2o9 

fingers, and make profound inquiries, which no- 
body thinks best to hear! You look on with a 
languid smile, and they pass out, asking 'why 
they can't stay with dear mamma, and why they 
mustn't play puss in the corner,' as usual ? 

" You wonder if your little croupy boy tied his 
tippet on when he went to school, and whether 
Betty will see that your husband's flannel is aired, 
and if Peggy has cleaned the silver and washed off 
the front door-steps, and what your blessed hus- 
band is about, that he don't come home to dinner. 
There sits old nurse, keeping up that dreadful 
treadmill trotting, 'to quiet the baby,' till you 
could fly through the key-hole in desperation. 

The odor of dinner begins to creep up stairs — ■ 
you wonder if your husband's pudding will be 
made right, and if Betty will remember to put 
wine in the sauce, as he likes it ; and then the per- 
spiration starts out on your forehead, as you hear 
a thumping on the stairs, and a child's suppressed 
scream ; and nurse swathes the baby up in flannel 
to the tip of its nose, dumps it down in the easy- 
chair, and tells you to 'leave the family to her, 
and go to sleep.' Bye-and-bye she comes in, after 
staying down long enough to get a refreshing cup 
of coffee — and walks up to the bed with a bowl of 
gruel, tasting it, and then putting the spoon back 



240 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

into the bowl. In the first place you hate gruel — in 
the next, you couldn't eat it if she held a pistol to 
your head, after that spoon has been in her 
mouth ; so you meekly suggest that it be set on 
the table to cool, (hoping by some providential in- 
terposition, it may get tipped over.) Well, she creeps 
round your room with a pair of creaking shoes, and 
a bran new gingham gown, that rattles like a paper 
window-curtain, at every step ; and smooths her 
hair with your nice little head-brush, and opens a 
drawer by mistake (?) ' thinking it was the baby's 
drawer.' Then you hear little nails scratching on 
the door ; and Charley whispers through the key- 
hole — ' Mamma, Charley's tired ; please let Charley 
come in ? ' Nurse scowls, and says no ; but you 
intercede (poor Charley, he's only a baby himself.) 
Well, he leans his little head wearily against the 
pillow, and looks suspiciously at that little bundle 
of flannel in nurse's lap. It's clear he's had a 
hard time of it, what with tears and molasses I The 
little shining curls that you have so often rolled 
over your fingers, are a tangled mass; and you 
long to take him, and make him comfortable, and 
cosset him a little ; and then the baby cries again, 
and you turn your head to the pillow with a 
smothered sigh. Nurse hears it, and Charley is 
taken struggling from the room. 



FANNY FERN. 241 

u You take your watch from under the pillow, 
to see if husband won't be home soon, and then 
look at nurse, who takes a pinch of snuff over your 
bowl of gruel, and sits down nodding drowsily, with 
the baby in alarming proximity to the fire. Now 
you hear a dear step on the stairs. It's your Char- 
ley! How bright he looks! and what nice fresh 
air he brings with him from out doors ! He parts 
the bed-curtains, looks in, and pats you on the 
cheek. You just want to lay your head on his 
shoulder, and have such a splendid cry I but there 
sits that old Gorgon of a nurse — she don't believe 
in husbands, she don't! You make Charley a free 
mason sign to send her down stairs for something. 
He says, {right out loud — men are so stupid!) ' What 
did you say, dearV Of course you protest you 
didn't say a word — never thought of such a thing ! 
and cuddle your head down to your ruffled pillows, 
and cry because you don't know what else to do, 
and because you are weak and weary, and full of 
care for your family, and don't want to see any- 
body but 'Charley.' 

" Nurse says ' she shall have you sick,' and tells 
your husband ' he'd better go down, and let you 
go to sleep.' Off he goes, wondering what on 
earth ails you, to cry I — wishing he had nothing to 
do but lie still, and be waited upon ! After dinner 
16 



242 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 

he comes in to bid you good-bye before lie goes to 
his office — whistles 'Nelly Bly' loud enough to 
wake up the baby, (whom he calls ' a comical little 
concern ! ') and puts his dear thoughtless head down 
to your pillow, (at a signal from you,) to hear what 
you have to say. Well, there's no help for it, you 
cry again, and only say 'dear Charley,' and he 
laughs, and settles his dickey, and says you are ' a 
nervous little puss,' gives you a kiss, lights his 
cigar at the fire, half strangles the new baby with 
the first whiff, and takes your heart off with him 
down street! 

" And you lie there and eat that gruel I and pick 

the fuzz all off the blanket, and make faces at the 

nurse, under the sheet, and wish Eve had never 

ate that apple (Genesis 8 : 16 ;) or that you were 

Abel ' to ' Gain ' her for doing it 1 "— 



LVII. 

MRS. ZEBEDEE SMITH'S 
PHILOSOPHY. 

TiE AE me ! how expensive it is to he poor. Every 
time I go out, my best bib and tucker has to go 
on. If Zebedee was worth a cool million, I might 
wear a coal-hod on my head, if I chose, with per- 
fect impunity. There was that old nabob's wife 
at lecture, the other night, in a dress that might 
have been made for Noah's great-grandmother. 
She can afford it! Now if it rains knives and 
forks, I must sport a ten dollar hat, a forty dollar 
dress, and a hundred dollar shawl. If I go to a 
concert, I must take the highest priced seat, and 
ride there and back, just to let c Tom, Dick and 
Harry ' see that I can afford it. Then we must 
hire the most expensive pew in the broad-aisle of 
a tip-top church, and give orders to the sexton not 



244 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

to admit any strangers into it who look snobbish. 
Then my little children, Napoleon Bonaparte and 
Dona Maria Smith, can't go to a public school, 
because, you know, we shouldn't have to pay any- 
thing. 

"Then if I go shopping, to buy a paper of 
needles, I have to get a little chap to bring them 
home, because it wouldn't answer for me to be 
seen carrying a bundle through the streets. "We 
have to keep three servants where one might do ; 
and Zebedee's coats have to be sent to the tailor 
when they need a button sewed on, for the look of 
the thing. 

" Then if I go to the sea-shore, in summer, I 
can't take my comfort, as rich people do, in ging- 
ham dresses, loose shoes, and cambric sun-bonnets. 
My senses ! no ! I have to be screwed up by ten 
o'clock in a Swiss muslin dress, a French cap, and 
the contents of an entire jeweller's shop showered 
over my person ; and my Napoleon Bonaparte and 
Dona Maria can't go off the piazza, because the 
big rocks and little pebbles cut their toes so badly 
through their patent kid slippers. 

" Then if Zebedee goes a-fishing, he wouldn't 
dare to put on a linen coat for the price of his 
reputation. No indeed ! Why, he never goes to 



FANNY FERN. 245 

the barn-yard without drawing on his white kids. 
Then he orders the most ruinous wines at dinner, 
and fees those white jackets, till his purse is as 
empty as an egg-shell. I declare it is abominably 
expensive. I don't believe rich people have the 
least idea how much it costs poor people to live I 



LVIII. 

INTERESTING TO BASHFUL MEN 
" ' Faint heart ne'er won fair lady.* 

TvIDN'T it though ! I FAN-cy it does ! If there's 
anything in the world that is quite entirely in- 
teresting, it's a man who daresn't say ' I love you/ 
though his eyes told the story long ago ! Of course 
you don't know anything about it. Oh, no ! 
Can't, for the soul of you, tell why he never comes 
near you without a tremor, or what possesses him 
to say 'yes,' instead of c no,' or to kiss your little 
brother so often, and give him so much sugar- 
candy ! Have no idea why he looks so ' distrait ' 
and embarrassed, when you take another gentle- 
man's arm or smile at him. Never see that bright 
magnetic sparkle in his eye when you call him 
Harry, instead of Mr. Fay. Don't see him pick up 
a rosebud that you dropped from your girdle, and 



FANNY FERN. 247 

hide it in his vest! {don't like it, either//) You 
don't notice what a long job he makes of it, putting 
your shawl on. You haven't the slightest suspi 
cion where the mate of your little kid glove went, 
the last time you went to walk ; you are not at all 
magnetically affected yourself/ Oh, no, not a bit of 
it/ Just as cool as a fur — refrigerator ! 

" Don't feel a bit nervous when your mother gets 
up and leaves the room ! Always have a topic at 
your tongue's end to dash off on. Never pick 
your ribbons all to pieces because you daresn't 
look him in the face. Never refuse to go to ride 
with him, when you are just dying to go. Never 
blush as red as a pulpit cushion, when your 
brother teases yo i about him, or say ' you don't care 
a fig for him.' When his ring at the door sends 
your heart to your mouth, you never snatch up a 
book and get so entirely absorbed in it, that he is 
obliged to touch your arm, before you can find out 
that he's in your presence ! You never read his 
notes, when you could say them all off with your eyes 
shut/ You never hide them where anybody can 
find them — without you should be taken with a 
fainting fit 1 You take precious good care to keep 
all that from Mr. Fay I 

" All right, dear ; don't hold out a single straw to 
help him ashore I Make him come every step of the 



248 LIFE 

way without a guide-board I but when he GETS 
there — hem ! — if you own a soul — tell him so ! 

" ' Faint heart never won fair lady J hey ! I dif- 
fer ! If there's anything that's a regular shower- 
hath to love, it's your ' veni, vidi, vici ' man, who 
considers himself so excruciatingly omnipotent ! 
Softly, sir ! Forewarned, forearmed ! You rouse 
all the antagonism in our nature ! The more you 
are sure you'll win, the more you won't / You've to 
earn your laurels, — to win your battle; (if you 
ever noticed it !) 

'' Do you suppose we are going to lose all those 
interesting, half-broken sentences, and all those 
pretty little blunders you make when we come 
near you ? If you only knew how interesting it 
was for us to see the color rush to your forehead, 
at such times, or to see you look so i triste ' when 
some old maid comes in to spend the evening, and 
you have to leave your little Paradise to go creep- 
ing home with her I or to see you manoeuvre one 
whole evening with a diplomacy (deserving a re- 
ward) for a seat next to us ! Goodness gracious 1 
I tell you ' faint hearts ' never win anything else 
but ' fair ladies ! ' " 



LIX. 

THE ANGEL CHILD. 

T ITTLE Mabel had no mother. She was slight, 
and sweet, and fragile, like her type, the lily of 
the valley. Her little hand, as you took it in 
yours, seemed almost to melt in your clasp. She 
had large, dark eyes, whose depths, with all your 
searching, you might fail to fathom. Her cheek 
was very pale, save when some powerful emotion 
lent it a passing flush ; her fair, open brow might 
have defied an angel's scrutiny ; her little footfall 
was noiseless as a falling snow-flake ; and her 
voice was sweet and low as the last note of the 
bird ere it folds its head under its wing for its 
nightly slumber. 

" The house in which Mabel lived, was large and 
splendid. You would have hesitated to crush with 
your foot the bright flowers on the thick, rich 
11* 



250 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

carpet. The rare old pictures on the walls were 
marred by no envious cross-lights ; light and shade 
were artistically disposed. Beautiful statues, which 
the sculptor (dream-inspired) had risen from a 
feverish couch to finish, lay bathed in the rosy 
light that streamed through the silken curtains. 
Obsequious servants glided in and out, as if taught 
by instinct to divine the unspoken wants of their 
mistress. 

" I said the little Mabel had no mother ; and yet 
there was a lady, fair and bright, of whose beauti- 
ful lip, and large dark eyes, and graceful limbs, 
little Mabel's were the mimic counterpart. Poets, 
artists, and sculptors, had sung, and sketched, and 
modelled her charms. Nature had been most 
prodigal of adornment — there was only one little 
thing she had forgotten — the Lady Mabel had no 
soul. 

" She did not forget to deck little Mabel's limbs 
with costliest fabrics of most unique fashioning; 
not that every shining ringlet on that graceful 
little head was not arranged by Mademoiselle 
Jennet, in strict obedience to orders; not that a 
large nursery was not fitted up luxuriously at the 
top of the house, filled with toys which its little 
owner never cared to look at ; not that the Lady 
Mabel's silken robe did not sweep, once a week. 



FANNY FERN. 251 

with a queenly grace through the apartment, to 
see if the mimic wardrobe provided for its little 
mistress fitted becomingly, or needed replenishing, 
or was kept in order by the smart French maid. 
Still, as I said before, the little Mabel had no 
mother I 

" See her, as she stands there by the nursery 
window, crushing her bright ringlets in the palm 
of her tiny hand. Her large eyes glow, her cheek 
flashes, then pales ; now the little breast heaves ! 
for the gorgeous west is one sea of molten gold. 
Each bright tint thrills her with strange rapture. 
She almost holds her breath, as they deepen, then, 
fade and die away ; and now the last bright beam 
disappears behind the hills; and the soft, grey 
twilight comes creeping on. Amid its deepening 
shadows, one bright star springs suddenly to its 
place in the heavens ! Little Mabel cannot tell 
why the warm tears are coursing down her sweet 
face, or why her limbs tremble, and her heart 
beats so fast, or why she dreads lest the shrill 
voice of Mademoiselle Jennet should break the 
spell. She longs to soar, like a bird, or a bright 
angel. She had a nurse once who told her ' there 
was a God.' She wants to know if He holds that 
bright star in its place. She wants to know if 
Heaven is a long way off, and if she shall ever be 



252 ' LIFE ASTI) BEAUTIES, ETC. 

a bright angel; and she would like to say a 
little prayer, her heart is so full, if she only knew 
how; but poor, sweet little Mabel — she has no 
motJier" 



LX 



FE VEE. 



PTISN'T possible you have been insane enough to 
go to housekeeping in the country for the sum- 
mer ? Oh, you ought to hear my experience,' and 
Uncle Ben wiped the perspiration from his fore- 
head at the very thought. 

"Yes, I tried it once, with city habits and a 
city wife ; got rabid with the dog-days, and 
nothing could cure me but a nibble of green 
grass. There was Susan, you know, who never 
was off a brick pavement in her life, and didn't 
know the difference between a cheese and a grind- 
stone. 

" Well, we ripped up our carpets, and tore down 
our curtains, and packed up our crockery, and 
nailed down our pictures, and eat dust for a week ; 
and then we emigrated to Daisy Ville. 



254 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

" Could I throw up a window or fasten back a 
blind in that bouse, without sacrificing my sus- 
penders and waistband button ? No, sir ! Weren't 
the walls full of Eed Eovers ? Didn't the doors 
fly open at every wind gust? Didn't the roof 
leak like the mischief? Wasn't the chimney 
leased to a pack of swallows ? Wasn't the well 
a half a mile from the house ? 

" Oh, you needn't laugh. Instead of the com- 
fortable naps to which I had been accustomed, I 
had to sleep with one eye open all night, lest I 
shouldn't get into the city in time. I had to be 
shaving in the morning before a rooster in the 
barn-yard had stirred a feather; swallowed my 
coffee and toast by steam, and then, still mastica- 
ting, made for the front door. There stood Peter 
with my horse and gig (for I detest your cars and 
omnibusses.) On the floor of the chaise was a 
huge basket to bring home material for the next 
day's dinner ; on the seat was a dress of my 
wife's, to be left 'without fail' at Miss Sewing 
Silk's, to have the forty-eleventh hook moved one- 
sixth of a degree higher up on the back. Then 
there was a package of shawls from Tom Fools & 
Co., to be returned ; and a pair of shoes to carry 
to Lapstone, who was to select another pair for me 
to bring out at night ; and a demijohn to be filled 



FANNY FERN. 255 

with Sherry, &c. Well, I whipped up Bucepha- 
lus, left my sleeping wife and babies, and started 
for town, cogitating over an intricate business snarl 
which bid defiance to any straightening process. 
I hadn't gone half a mile before an old maid (I 
hate old maids) stopped me to know if I was going 
into town, and if I was, if I wouldn't take her in, 
as the omnibusses made her sick. She said she was 
1 niece to Squire Dandelion, and had a few chores 
to do a-shopping.' So I took her in, or rather she 
took me in (but she didn't do it but once — for I 
bought a sulkey next day) ! Well, it came night, 
and I was hungry as a Hottentot, for I never could 
dine as your married widowers pro tern, do, at eating- 
houses, where one gravy answers for flesh, fish, and 
fowl, and the pudding-sauce is as black as the cook's 
complexion. So I went round on an empty stom- 
ach, hunting up my express-man parcels, and wend- 
ing my way to the stable with arms and pockets 
running over. When I got home, found my wife 
in despair; no tacks in the house to nail down car- 
pets, and not one to be had at the store in the vil- 
lage ; the cook had deserted, because she couldn't 
do without ' her city privileges, 1 (meaning Jonathan 
Jones, the ' dry dirt ' man ;) and the chambermaid, 
a buxom country girl, with fire red hair and tem- 
per to match, was spinning round the crockery 



256 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

(a la Blitz) because she ' couldn't eat with the 
family.' 

" Then Charley was taken with the croup in the 
night, and in my fright I put my feet into my coat 
sleeves, and my arms into my pants, and put on 
one of my wife's ruffles instead of a dickey, aDd 
rode three miles in a pelting rain, for some { goose- 
grease ' for his throat. 

" Then we never found out till cherries, and 
strawberries, and peaches were ripe, how many 
friends (f) we had. There was a horse hitched at 
every rail in the fence, so long as there was any- 
thing left to eat on a tree in the farm ; but if my 
wife went in town shopping, and called on any of 
them, they were ' out, or engaged ; ' — or if at home, 
had ( just done dinner, and were going to ride.' 

" Then there was no school in the neighbor- 
hood for the children, and they were out in the 
barn-yard feeding the pigs with lump-sugar, and 
chasing the hens off the nest, to see what was the 
prospect for eggs, and making little boats of their 
shoes and sailing them in the pond, aud milking 
the cow in the middle of the day, &o. 

" Then if I dressed in the morning in linen 
coat, thin pants, and straw hat, I'd be sure to find 
the wind ' dead east ' when I got into the city ; or 
if I put on broadcloth and fixins to match, it 



FANNY FERN. 257 

would be hotter than Shadrach's furnace, all day 
— while the dense morning fog would extract the 
starch from my dickey and shirt-bosom, till they 
looked very like a collapsed flapjack. 

11 Then our meeting-house was a good two miles 
distant, and we had to walk, or stay at home ; 
because my factotum (Peter) wouldn't stay on the 
farm without he could have the horse Sundays to 
go to Mill Village to see his affianced Nancy. 
Then the old farmers leaned on my stone wall, 
and laughed till the tears came into their eyes, to 
see ' the city gentleman's ' experiments in horti- 
culture, as they passed by 'to meetin'.' 

" Well, sir, before summer was over, my wife 
and I looked as jaded as omnibus horses — she with 
chance ' help ' and floods of city company, and I 
with my arduous duties as express man for my 
own family in particular, and the neighbors in 
general. 

" And now here we are — i No 9 Kossuth 

square/ Can reach anything we want, by putting 

our hands out the front windows. If, as the poet 

says, ( man made the town? all I've got to say is — 

he understood his business ! " 
17 



LXI. 



CON N UBI AL ADVERTISEMENT. 

AN this subject Fanny writes eloquently, as will 
" be seen by the following sketch. She writes as 
if she had learned all about it, in the bitter school 
of experience. 

" ' Connubial. — Mr. Albert Wicks, of Coventry, under date 
of December 28th, advertised his wife as having left his bed 
and board ; and now, under date of March 26th, he appends 
to his former notice, the following : 

' Mrs. Wicks, if you ever intend to come back and live with 
me any more you must come back now or not at all. 

' I love you as I do my life, and if you will come now, I 
will forgive you for all you have done and threatened to do, 
which I can prove by three good witnesses ; and if not, I 
shall attend to your case without delay, and soon, too.' 

"There, now, Mrs. "Wicks, what is to be done? 
1 Three good witnesses,' think of that I What the 
mischief have you been about ? Whatever it is 



FANNY FERN. 259 

Mr. Wicks is ready to 'love you like his life/ 
Consistent Mr. Wicks ! 

11 Now take a little advice, my dear innocent, 
and don't allow yourself to be badgered or fright- 
ened into anything. None but a coward ever 
threatens a woman. Put that in your memoran- 
dum book. It's all bluster and braggadocio. 
Thread your darning-needle, and tell him you are 
ready for him — ready for anything except his 
* loving you like his life ; ' that you could not 
possibly survive that infliction, without having 
your ( wick' snuffed entirely out. 

u Sew away, just as if there was not a domestic 
earthquake brewing under your connubial feet. 
If it sends you up in the air, it sends him too — 
there's a pair of you ! Put that in his Wick — ed 
ear ! Of course he will sputter away, as if he had 
swallowed a ' Roman candle/ and you can take a 
nap till he gets through, and then offer him your 
smelling-bottle to quiet his nerves. 

" That's the way to quench him ! " 



LXIX. 

WHAT FANNY THINKS ABOUT SEWING 
MACHINES. 

HPHEKE'S ' nothing new under the sun ;' — so 
I've read, somewhere ; either in Ecclesiastes or 
Uncle Tom's Cabin ; but at any rate, I was forcibly 
reminded of the profound wisdom of the remark, 
upon seeing a great flourish of trumpets in the 
papers about a ' Sewing Machine,' that had been 
lately invented. 

" Now if 2" know anything of history, that dis- 
covery dates back as far as the Garden of Eden. 
If Mrs. Adam wasn't the first sewing machine, Pit 
give up guessing. Didn't she go right to work 
making aprons, before she had done receiving her 
bridal calls from the beasts and beastesses ? Cer- 
tainly she did, and I honor her for it, too. 

" Well — do you suppose all her pretty little de- 



FANNY FERN. 261 

scendants who ply their ' busy fingers ' in the upper 
lofts of tailors, and hatters, and vest-makers, and 
* finding ' establishments,' are going to be super- 
seded by that dumb old thing ? Do you suppose 
their young and enterprising patrons prefer the 
creaking of a crazy machine to the music of their 
young voices ? Not by a great deal ! 

11 It's something, I can tell you, for them to see 
their pretty faces light up, when they pay off their 
wages of a Saturday night (small fee enough ! too 
often, God knows!) Pity that the shilling heart 
so often accompanies the guinea means. 

" Oh, launch out, gentlemen ! Don't always look 
at things with a business eye. Tnose iragile forms 
are young, to toil so unremittingly. God made no 
distinction of sex when he said — ' The laborer is 
worthy of his hire.' Man's cupidity puts that in- 
terpretation upon it. 

11 Those young operatives in your employ, pass, 
in their daily walks, forms youthful as their own, 
'clothed in purple and fine linen,' who 'toil not, 
neither do they spin.' Oh, teach them not to look 
after their ' satin and sheen,' purchased at such 
a fearful cost, with a discouraged sigh ! 

"For one, I can never pass such a 'fallen angel' 
with a ' stand aside ' feeling. A neglected youth, 
an early orphanage, poverty, beauty, coarse fare, 



262 LIFE AN1> BEAUTIES, ET$ 

the weary day of toil lengthened into night, — a 
mere pittance its reward. Youth, health, young 
blood, and the practised wile of the ready tempter ! 
Oh, Where's the marvel f 

" Think of all this, when you poise that hardly 
earned dollar, on your business finger. What if 
it were your own delicate sister? Let a little 
heart creep into that shrewd bargain. 'Twill be 
an investment in the Bank of Heaven, that shall 
return to you four-fold, 5 * 



LXIII. 

THE TIME TO CHOOSE. 

MRS. CHRISSHOLM says :— " The best time to 
choose a wife is early in the morning. If a 
young lady is at all inclined to sulks and slattern- 
ness, it is just before breakfast. As a general 
thing, a woman don't get on her temper, till after 
10 A. M." 

Yery spiritedly Fanny makes answer : — 

" ' Men never look slovenly before breakfast — 
no indeed! Never run round vestless in their 
stocking-feet, with dressing-gown inside out ; soiled 
hankerchief hanging by one corner out of the 
pocket ; minus dickey ; minus neck-tie ; pantaloon 
straps flying at their heels ; suspenders streaming 
from their waistband; chin shaved on one side, 



264 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 



lathered on the other ; ]ast night's coat and pants 
on the floor, just where they hopped out of them ; 
face snarled up in forty wrinkles, because the 
chamber fire won't burn ; and because it snows ; 
and because the office-boy hasn't been for the 
keys ; and because the newspaper hasn't come ; 
and because they smoked too many cigars by one 
dozen, the night before ; and because they lost that 
bet, and can't pay the Scoi-t ; and because there's 
an omelet instead of a chicken-leg for breakfast ; 
and because they are out of sorts and shaving- 
soap ; and out of cigars and credit ; and can't any 
how i get their temper on/ till they get some 
money and a mint julap ! 

" Any time ' before 10 o'clock,' is the time to 
1 choose ' a husband — perhaps I " 



LXIV, 

OUR NELLY, 



THIS is one of Fanny's sweet bits of pathos ; so 
sweet, so pure, it would furnish an apology tor 
half a volume of coarse slang : — 



" l Who is she ? ' c Why, that is our Nelly, to 
be sure.' Nobody ever passed Nelly without ask- 
ing, ' Who is she ? ' One can't forget the glance 
of that blue eye, in a hurry ; nor the waving of 
those golden locks ; nor the breezy grace of that 
lithe figure ; nor those scarlet lips, nor the bright, 
glad sparkle of the whole face ; and then she is 
not a bit proud ; although she steps so like a queen 
she would shake hands just as quick with a horny 
palm as with a kid glove. The world can't spoil 
{ our Nelly,' for her heart is in the right place. 

" ' You should have seen her thank an old 
farmer, the other day, for clearing the road, that 
she might pass. He shaded his eyes with his 
12 



266 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

hand, when she swept by, as if he had been dazzled 
by a sudden flash of sunlight, and muttered to 
himself, as he looked after her — { Won't she 
make somebody's heart ache ?' Well, she has, but 
it is because from among all her lovers she could 
marry but one, and, God save us ! that her choice 
should have fallen upon Walter Lee ! If he don't 
quench out the love-light in those blue eyes, my 
name is not John Morrison. I've seen his eyes 
flash when things didn't suit him ; I've seen him 
nurse his wrath to keep it warm till the smoulder- 
ing embers were ready for conflagration. He's as 
vindictive as an Indian. I'd as soon mate a dove 
with a tiger, as give him ' our Nelly.' There's a 
dozen noble fellows, this hour, ready to lay down 
their lives for her, and yet out of the whole crowd 
she must choose Walter Lee. Oh, I have no 
patience to think of it. Well-a-day ! mark my 
words, he will break her heart before a twelve- 
month ! He's a pocket edition of Napoleon.' 

" A year had passed by, and amid the hurry of 
business and the din of the great city, I had quite 
forgotten Glenburn and its fairy queen. It was a 
time to recall her to mind, that lovely June morn- 
ing — with its soft fleecy clouds, its glad sunlight, 
its song of birds, and its breath of roses ; and so I 



FANNT FERN. 267 

threw the reins on Borneo's neck, that he might 
choose his own pace down the sweet-briar path, 
to John Morrison's cottage. And there sat John, 
in the doorway, smoking his pipe, with Towser 
crouched at his feet, in the same old spot, just as 
if the sun had never gone down behind the hills 
since I parted with him. 

" * And ' our Nelly,' said I, taking up the thread 
of his year old narrative as though it had never 
been broken — * and ' our Kelly ? ' 

"'Under the sod,' said the old man, with a dark 
frown ; c under the sod. He broke her heart, just 
as I told you he would. Such a bridal as it was ! 
I'd as lief have gone to a funeral. And then Wal- 
ter carried her off to the city, where she was as 
much out of her element as a humming-bird in a 
meeting-house ; and tried to make a fine lady of 
her, with stiff, city airs, and stiff city manners. It 
was like trying to fetter the soft west wind, which 
comes and goes at its own sweet will ; and Nelly 
— who was only another name for Nature — pined 
and drooped like a bird in a darkened cage. 

" ' One by one her old friends dropped off, 
wearied with repeated and rude repulses from her 
moody husband, till he was left, as he desired, 
master of the field. It was astonishing the ascend- 
ancy he gained over his sweet wife, contemptible 



268 LIFE 

as lie was. She made no objection to his most 
absurd requirements ; but her step lost its spring, 
her eye its sparkle ; and one might listen long for 
her merry-ringing laugh. Slowly, sadly, to Nelly 
came that terrible conviction from which a wife 
has no appeal. Ah! there is no law to protect 
woman from negative abuse ! no mention made in 
the statute book (which men frame for themselves) 
of the constant dropping of daily discomforts which 
wear the loving heart away. No allusion to looks 
or words that are like poisoned arrows to the sink- 
ing spirit. No ! if she can show no mark of brutal 
fingers on her delicate flesh — he has fulfilled his 
legal promise to the letter — to love, honor, and 
cherish her. Out on such a mockery of justice ! 

" c Well, sir ; Nelly fluttered back to Glenburn, 
with the broken wing of hope, to die ! So wasted ! 
so lovely ! The lips that blessed her, could not 
choose but to curse him. 'She leaned on a broken 
reed,' said her old gray-haired father, as he closed 
her blue eyes forever. ' May God forgive him, for 
I never can,' said an old lover, whose heart was 
buried in her grave. 

" 'Nelly Lee, aged 18/ 

" ' You'll read it in the village churchyard, sir ; 
eighteen ! Brief years, sir, to drain all of happi- 
ness Life's cup could offer I ' " 



LXV 



•THIS is a phrase which is " teetotally " banished 
from Fanny's " Fern dictionary." Kead the fol- 
lowing exordium, and you'll never think of doubt- 
ing her assertion, that she is " a little Bunker- Hill M 
herself — a genuine Napoleon in petticoats. 

" Apollo ! what a face ! doleful as a hearse ; 
folded hands ; hollow chest ; whining voice ; the 
very picture of cowardly irresolution. Spring to 
your feet, hold up your head, set your teeth to- 
gether, draw that fine form of yours up to the 
height that God made it ; draw an immense long 
breath, and look about you. What do you see ? 
Why, all creation taking care of number one — 
pushing ahead like the car of Juggernaut, over 
live victims. There it is ; and you can't help it. 
Are you going to lie down and be crushed ? 



210 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 

" By all that's holy, no ! dash ahead ! You've 
as good a right to mount the triumphal car as your 
neighbor. Snap your ringers at croakers ; if you 
can't get round a stump, leap over it, high and 
dry ! Have nerves of steel, a will of iron \ never 
mind sideaches, or heartaches, or headaches; dig 
away without stopping to breathe, or to notice 
envy or malice. Set your target in the clouds and 
aim at it. If your arrow falls short of the mark, 
what of that ? Pick it up and go at it again. If 
you should never reach it, you'll shoot higher than 
as if you only aimed at a bush. Don't whine, if 
your friends fall off. At the first stroke of good 
luck, by Mammon ! they'll swarm around you like 
a hive of bees, till you are disgusted with human 
nature. 

" l I canHf Oh, pshaw! I throw my glove in 
your face, if I am a woman ! You are a disgrace 
to corduroys. What! a man lack courage! A 
man want independence! A man to be discour- 
aged at obstacles ! A man afraid to face anything 
on earth save his Maker! Why! I'm a little 
( Bunker Hill, 1 myself/ I've the most unmitigated 
contempt for you ! you little ^wsillanimous pussy 
<*at! There's nothing manly about you, except 
your whiskers." 



LXVI. 

MRS. SMITH'S REVERIE, WRITTEN 
OUT BY FANNY FERN. 

" * All dissimulation is disloyality to love. ' 

T'VE thought so before,' said Mrs. Smith ; ' but now 
I know it, because I read it in the newspapers. 
These editors beat the D — utch for understanding 
human nature, (all except female nature;) there 
they are decidedly benighted. However, it isn't 
for my interest to throw any light on that subject ; 
it is an interesting study that I shan't interfere 
with. But this is a digression. As I was 
saying, 'dissimulation is disloyalty to love.' 
Didn't Mr. Smith tell me, when he asked me, 
on his knees, to make him the happiest of 
men, that I was the only daughter of Eve he ever 
fancied ; and didn't I, before the honey-moon was 
over, find in his old bachelor trunk, locks of hair 



272 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 

of every color the sun ever shone upon? And 
doesn't it do me good to put my matrimonial 
foot on the cricket that I stuffed with them? 
Certainly — I only wish I had their entire scalps ! 

" Well — didn't he come home one Sunday, with 
a face as long as an orthodox steeple, and give me 
•' the text and heads of the discourse/ when he 
had been off rolling ninepins all the morning? 
And didn't I always know, when he kissed me, 
or gave me a twenty dollar bill, (which was much 
more acceptable!) that it was the premonitory 
symptom of a desperate flirtation with somebody ? 
and wasn't I sure, when that buff vest, and blue 
coat with bright brass buttons, went on, that there 
was immense execution to be done somewhere on 
forbidden ground ? 

" Well—' Life is short ; ' so is Mr. Smith. No 
help for either, that I know of! I'm too busy, 
amusing myself, to attend to his little derelictions. 
If there's anything that I ignore it is curiosity. It 
is so decidedly a masculine failing that I scorn to 
be guilty of it!" 



LXVII. 

A NIGHT-WATCH WITH A DEAD 
INFANT. 

If OOBESTthou thy bark so soon, little voyager ? 
UX Through, those infant eyes, with a prophet's 
vision, sawest thou life's great battle-field, swarm- 
ing with fierce combatants ? Fell upon thy timid 
ear the far-off din of its angry strife ? Drooped 
thy head wearily on the bosom of the Sinless, 
fearful of earthly taint ? Fluttered thy wings 
impatiently 'gainst the bars of thy prison-house, 
sweet bird of Paradise ? 

" God speed thy flight ! No unerring sportsman 
shall have power to ruffle thy spread pinions, 
or maim thy soaring wing. No sheltering nest 
had earth for thee, where the chill wind of sorrow 
might not blow ! No garden of Eden, where the 
serpent lay not coiled beneath the flowers 1 No 
18 



274 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 

' Tree of Life,' whose branches might have shel- 
tered thee for aye! 

" Warm fall the sunlight on thy grassy pillow, 
sweet human blossom ! Softly fall the night dews 
on the blue-eyed violet above thee ! Side by side 
with thee are hearts that have long since ceased 
hoping or aching. There lies the betrothed 
maiden, in her unappropriated loveliness ; the 
bride, with her head pillowed on golden tresses, 
whose rare beauty, even the Great Spoiler seemed 
loth to touch ; childhood, but yesterday warm and 
rosy on its mother's breast ; the loving wife and 
mother, in life's sweet prime; the gray-haired 
pastor, gone to his reward ; the youth of crisped 
locks and brow unfurrowed by care; the heart- 
broken widow, and tearful orphan, all await with 
folded hands, closed eyes, and silent lips, alike 
with thee, the resurrection morn. 



LXVIII. 

ik LITTLE GOOD ADVICE. — FROM 
FANNY FERN. 

" ' No person should be delicate about asking for what is 
properly his due. If he neglects doing so, he is deficient in 
that spirit of independence which he should observe in all his 
actions. Rights are rights, and, if not granted, should be 
demanded.' 

A LITTLE 'Bunker Hill' atmosphere about 
that ! It suits my republicanism ; but I hope 
no female sister will be such a novice as to sup- 
pose it refers to any but masculine rights. In 
the first place, my dear woman, ' female rights ' is 
debateable ground ; what you may call a c vexed 
question.' In the next place, (just put your ear 
"'down, a little nearer) granted we had l rights,' the 
more we ' demand ' 'em, the more we shan't get , em. 
I've been converted to that faith this some time. 



276 LIFE AND 

No sort of use to waste lungs and leather trotting 
to SlGH-racuse about it. The instant the subject 
is mentioned, the lords of creation are up and 
dressed. Guns and bayonets the order of the day ; 
no surrender on every flag that floats ! The only 
way left is to pursue the { Uriah Heep ' policy ; 
look umble, and be almighty cunning. Bait 'em 
with submission, and then throw the noose over 
the will. Appear not to have any choice, and as 
true as gospel you'll get it. Ask their advice, and 
they'll be sure to follow yours. Look one way, 
and pull another I Make your reins of silk, heep 
'em out of sight, and drive where you like I " 



LXIX. 

THE OTHEE ONE. 

OOMEBODY rather ambiguously xftrvArks" •»• 

^ " Let cynics prattle as they may, our existence 
here, without the presence of the other sex, would 
be only a dark and cheerless void." 

Fanny inquires, in reply : — " Which 'other sex ? ' 
Don't be so obscure. Dr. Beecher says, 'that a 
writer's ideas should stand out like rabbit's ears, so 
that the reader can get hold of them.* If you 
alluded to the female sex, I don't subscribe to it. 
I wish they were all ' translated.' If there is any- 
thing .gives me the sensations of a landsman on his 
first sea voyage, it is the sight of a bonnet. Think 
of female friendship ! Two women joining the 
Mutual Admiration Society ; emptying their budget 
of love affairs ; comparing bait to entrap victims , 



278 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

sighing over the same rose leaf; sonnetizing the 
same moonbeam ; patronizing the same milliner, 
and exchanging female hisses! (Betty, hand me my 
fan!) 

" Well, let either have one bonnet or one lover 
more than the other — or, if they are blue stock- 
ings, let either be one round the higher on Fame's 
ladder — bodkins and darning-needles ! what a tem- 
pest ! Caps and characters in such a case are of 
no account at all. Oh, there never should be but 
one woman alive at a time. Then the fighting 
would be all where it belongs — in the masculine 
camp. What a time there'd be, though ! Wouldn't 
she be a belle? Bless her little soul; how she 
would queen it. It makes me clap my hands to 
think of it. TJie only woman in the world! If it 
was me, shouldn't they all leave off smoking, and 
wearing those odious plaid continuations ? Should 
they ever wear an outside coat, with the flaps cut 
off, or a Kossuth hat, or a yellow Marseilles vest ? 
or a mammoth bow on their neck- ties ; or a turn- 
over dickey ; or a watch-chain ; or a ring on the 
little finger ; or any other abomination or off-shoot 
of dandyism whatsoever? Shouldn't I politely 
request them all to touch their hats, instead of 
j erking their heads, when they bowed ? Wouldn't 
I coax them to read me poetry till they had the 



FANNY FERN. 279 

bronchitis ? Wouldn't they play on the flute, and 
sing the soul out of me ? And then if they were 
sick, wouldn't I pet them, and tell them all sorts of 
comicalities, and make time fly like the mischief? 
Shouldn't wonder I " 



K 



LXX. 

A PEN AND INK SKETCH. — BY FANNY 
FERN. 

T\0 you suppose Diogenes Dinkey would know 
his own portrait, if I drew it ? It won't hurt 
me if he does, so long as it is a disputed point 
1 whether I be V Well, his proportions were de- 
cidedly alderman-ic, and his gait strongly resem- 
bled that of the wooden horses one sees jerked 
across the stage at the theat — I mean the museum ! 
Such a stiff dickey as he wore ! What prevented 
his ears from being sawed off by it, was beyond 
me. 

''Diogenes was a saint and an epicure; divided 
his affections equally between veal pies and vestry 
meetings ; in fact the former depended on his proper 
observance of the latter, as he was supported by 
sixpenny contributions from humbugged brethren 



A 



FANNY FERN. 281 

who considered him a celestial luminary. Of 
course he made his appearance simultaneously with 
the sexton, and kept popping up and down, in 
service time, like one of those corn-stalk witches, 
that country children play with. There was no 
' napkin ' big enough to hide his ( talent ; ' he en- 
dorsed everything the minister said ; not mention- 
ing what the deacons got off, and after that he put 
the audience to sleep by chasing round some idea 
of his own, till he lost it ; and then he sat down. 
You didn't catch him raising any vexed questions 
about ' dipping,' or 'sprinkling,' or 'high church, 
or 'low church,' not he! he had a real millennial 
disposition ; never raised any theological fences 
he couldn't crawl under, or climb over, to pick up 
windfall sixpences to swell hjs salary for the benefit 
of his fellow-creatures in general and himself in 
particular. He didn't care a torn hymn-book, 
whether it was a Baptist, or Episcopalian, or Uni- 
tarian hand he shook, as long as it left a bonus in 
his saintly palm. 

" Poor Diogenes ! he was affected with spasmodic 
near-sightedness, that always attacked him when 
he saw a Paul Pry in the distance who might hold 
him by the button long enough to desire statistics 
of the amount of good he had performed. He 
liked to be inquisitorial himself; but, like most 



282 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 

persons of that description, he was not particular 
to have the compliment returned. He had a vol- 
uminous robe of dignity he threw on, at times, 
when escape was impossible, that was very excru- 
tiating to anybody who knew what was under- 
neath it. 

"Long life to you, Diogenes! I wouldn't lose 
you for a bright sixpence. 

" I've attended many a conventicle where you 
were the chief attraction ; you are a perfect study 

t» FANNY FERN.*' 



LXXI. 

fanny's "rules foe ladies." 

"VTEVEK walk on the Common ; it is ' vulgar ; ' 
dusty streets and a chorus of rattling omni- 
busses are more refined. Never go out in damp, 
cloudy or rainy weather. India rubbers and um- 
brellas are only fit for common people. Should it 
storm six weeks on a stretch, better ruin your 
health, than appear in anything but paper soles 
and silk dresses. When the chill autumn winds 
blow, go out in drapery sleeves, that the wind 
may have a free pass round your elbows. Don't 
disarrange your curls by bowing to an elderly 
person ; nor by any manner of means recognize a 
male or female who is not a walking advertise- 
ment for a tailor or a milliner. 



284 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

"Always whisper and laugh, at concerts, by 
way of compliment to the performers, and to show 
your neighbors a sovereign contempt for their 
comfort. When Betty is brushing your hair, or 
lacing your boots, listen with avidity to all the 
gossip she can muster ; it will encourage her laud- 
able desire to take notes of your establishment for 
the benefit of her next mistress. Always keep 
callers waiting, till they have had time to notice 
the outlay of money in your parlors. It isn't a 
bad plan to send a child into the room to act as 
{ special reporter ! ' Always take physic on Sun- 
day, and have a novel handy ; or, you can write 
or read love-letters. Never on any account go 
into your kitchen, or know the difference between 
the manufacture of an omelet or an apple-pie. 
Call into your nursery once a week to see if Tom- 
my's hair has begun to curl. Keep Betty till 
one o'clock at night, sitting up for your return ; 
and order her to get up at four o'clock in the 
morning. Keep as many flirtations on hand as 
you conveniently can, without getting into a snarl. 

Be just as gracious in your manner to a prac- 
tised roue, (provided he has the entrance into good 
society,) as you would to a man deserving a 
woman's respect. Dispute with your sempstress 
about a ninepence, and buy a thousand dollar 



FANNY FERN. 285 

shawl. Present the bouquet your last admirer 
sent you, to the next one who looks into your 
* starry eyes ! ' Dance all night, sleep all day, and 
waltz with anybody who is the * ton? " 



LXXII. 

THE LITTLE PAUPER. 

THIS is one of Fanny's most life-like word- 
paintings. 

"It is only a little pauper ! Never mind her. 
You see she knows her place, and keeps close to 
the wall, as if she expected an oath or a blow. 
The cold winds are making merry with those thin 
rags. You see nothing of childhood's rounded 
symmetry in those shrunken limbs and pinched 
features. Push her one side, she's used to it ; she 
won't complain ; she can't remember that she ever 
heard a kind word in her life. She'd think you 
were mocking if you tried it. 

" She passes into the warm kitchen, savory with 
odorous dainties, and is ordered out with a threat 
by the portly cook. In the shop windows she 



FANNY FERN. 287 

sees nice fresh loaves of bread and tempting little 
cakes. Kosy little children pass her, on their way 
to school, well-fed, well-clad and joyous, with a 
mother's parting kiss yet warm on their sweet 
lips. 

" There seems to be happiness enough in the 
world, but it never comes to her. Her little bas- 
ket is quite empty ; and now, faint with hunger, 
she leans wearily against that shop window. 
There is a lovely lady, who has just passed in. 
She is buying cakes and bon-bons for her little girl 
as if she had the purse of Fortunatus. How nice 
it must be to be warm, and have enough to eat ! 
Poor Meta! She has tasted nothing since she 
was sent forth with a curse in the morning, to beg 
or — steal, and the tears will come ; there is happi- 
ness and plenty in the world — but none for Meta I 

"Not so fast, little one! Warm hearts beat 
sometimes under silk and velvet. That lady has 
caught sight of your little woe-begone face and 
shivering form. Oh ! what if it were her child ? — 
and, obeying a sweet maternal impulse, she passes 
out the door, takes those little benumbed fingers 
in her daintily gloved hands, and leads the child, 
wondering, shy and bewildered, into fairy land. 

"A delightful and novel sensation of warmth 
creeps over those frozen limbs — a faint color tinges 



288 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 

the pale cheeks, and the eyes grow liquid and 
lovely, as Meta raises them thankfully to her bene- 
factress. The lady's little girl looks on with an 
innocent joy, and learns, for the first time, how 
* blessed are the merciful.' 

"And then Meta passes out, with a heavy basket 
and a light heart Surely the street has grown 
wider and the sky brighter ! This can scarcely be 
the same world ! Meta's form is erect now ! her 
step light as a child's should be. The sunshine 
of human love has brightened her pathway I Ah, 
Metal earth is not all darkness — bright angels 
yet walk the earth. Sweet-voiced Pity and hea- 
ven-eyed Charity sometimes stoop to bless. God's 
image is only marred, not destroyed. He who 
feeds the ravens, bends to listen. Look upward, 
little Meta I" 



LXXIII. 

WHAT FANNY THINKS ABOUT 
FRIENDSHIP. 

A ND so you have * the blues ' hey ? Well, I 
pity you ! No I don't either ; there's no need 
of it. If one friend proves a Judas, never mind ! 
plenty of warm, generous, nice hearts left for the 
winning ! If you are poor and have to sell your 
free-agency for a sixpence a week to some penurious 
relative, or be everlastingly thankful for the gift 
of an old garment that won't hang together till 
you get it home ! just go to work like ten thou- 
sand evil spirits, and make yourself independent! 
and see with what a different pair of spectacles 
you'll get looked at ! Nothing like it, my dear ; 
you can have everything on earth you want, when 
you don't need anything. Don't the Bible sajr, 
' to him that hath shall be given ? ' no mistake, 
10 



290 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

you see I When the wheel turns round with you 
on the top, saints and angels I you can do any- 
thing you like, play any sort of a prank, pout or 
smile, be grave or gay, saucy or courteous, it will 
pass muster! you never need trouble yourself — 
can't do anything wrong if you try ! At the most 
it will only be an ■ eccentricity ! ' But you never 
need be such a fool as to expect that anybody will 
find out you're a diamond till you get a showy set- 
ting ! you'll get knocked and cuffed round, and 
roughly handled, with paste and tinsel, and rub- 
bish, till that auspicious moment arrives. Then! 
won't all the sheaves how down to your sheaf f — not 
one rebellious straggler left in the field ! But stay 
a little. In your adversity found you one faithful 
heart that stood firmly by your side and shared 
your tears ; when skies were dark, and your path- 
way thorny and steep, ' and summer friends fell 
off like autumn leaves?' By all that's noble in a 
woman's heart, give that one *he first place in it 
now. Let the world see one heart proof against 
the sunshine of prosperity. You can't repay such 
a friend — all the mines of Golconda couldn't do it! 
But in a thousand delicate ways, prompted by a 
woman's unerring tact, let your heart come forth, 
gratefully, generously, lovingly. Pray heaven he 
be on the shady side of fortune — that your heart 



FANNY FERN. 291 

and hand may have a wider field for gratitude to 
show itself. Extract every thorn from his path- 
way, chase away every cloud of sorrow, brighten 
his lonely hours, smooth the pillow of sickness, 
and press lovingly his hand in death." 



LXXIV. 

TRUTH SRANGER THAN FICTION. — 
RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO JEAL- 
OUS HUSBANDS. — BY FANNY FERN. 

"DERCY, dear Percy, take back those "bitter word3 j 
as heaven is my witness, they are undeserved 
by me. See, my eye quails not beneath yours ; 
my cheek blanches not ; I stand before you, at this 
moment, with every vow I made you at the altar 
unbroken, in letter and spirit ; ' and she drew closer 
to him and laid her delicate hand upon his broad 
breast. ' Wrong me not, Percy, even in thought. 7 
" The stern man hesitated. Had he not wilfully 
blinded himself, he had read truth and honor in 
the depths of the clear blue eyes that looked so 
unflinchingly into his own. For a moment, their 
expression overcame him ; then, dashing aside the 
slender fingers that rested upon him, he left her 
with a muttered oath. 



FANNY FERN. 2U3 

" Mary Lee had the misfortune to be very pretty, 
and the still greater misfortune to marry a jealous 
husband. Possessing a quick and ready wit, and 
great conversational powers, a less moderate share 
of personal charms would have made her society 
eagerly sought for., 

11 As soon as her eyes were opened to the defect 
alluded to in her husband's character, she set her- 
self studiously to avoid the shoals and quicksands 
that lay in the matrimonial sea. One by one, she 
quietly dropped the acquaintance of gentlemen, 
who, from their attractiveness or preference for her 
society, seemed obnoxious to Percy. 

"Mary was no coquette. Nature had given her 
a heart ; and superior as she was to her husband, 
she really loved him. To most women, his exact- 
ing unreasonableness would only have stimulated 
to a finished display of coquetry ; but Mary, gentle 
and yielding, made no show of opposition to the 
most absurd requirements. But all these sacrifices 
had been unavailing to propitiate the fiend of jeal- 
ousy — and there she sat, an hour after her husband 
had left her, with her hands pressed tightly to- 
gether, pale and tearless, striving, in vain, to recall 
any cause of offence. 

Hour after hour passed by, and still he came not. 
The heavy tramp of feet had long since ceased be- 



294 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

neath the window ; the pulse of the great city was 
still; silence and darkness brooded over its slum- 
bering thousands. Mary could endure it no lon- 
ger. Kising and putting aside the curtain, she 
pressed her face close against the window-pane, as 
if her straining eye could pierce the gloom of mid- 
night. She hears a step ! it is his 1 

" Trembling, she sank upon the sofa to await his 
coming and nerve herself to bear his bitter harsh- 
ness. 

" Percy came gaily up to her and kissed her 
forehead ! Mary passed her hand over her eyes 
and looked at him again. No ! he was not exhil- 
arated with wine. What could have caused this 
sudden revulsion of feeling ! Single-hearted and 
sincere herself, she never dreamed of treachery. 

" ' Percy regrets his injustice,' she said to her- 
self. 'Men are rarely magnanimous enough to 
own they have been in the wrong ; ' and, with the 
generosity of a noble heart, she resolved never to 
remind him, by speech or look, that his words had 
been like poisoned arrows to her spirit. 

" The following day, Percy proposed their tak- 
ing 'a short trip into a neighboring town,' and 
Mary, glad to convince him how truly she for- 
gave him, readily complied. It was a lovely day 
in spring; and the fresh air, and sweet-scented 



FANNY FERN. 295 

blossoms, might have sent a thrill of pleasure to 
sadder hearts than theirs. 

u l What a pretty place,' said Mary. ' What a 
spacious house ! and how tastefully the grounds 
are laid out. Do you stop here ? ' she continued, 
as her husband reined the horse into the avenue. 

" ' A few moments. I have business here,' re- 
plied Percy, slightly averting his face, ' and you 
had better alight too, for the horse is restive, and 
may trouble you.' 

"Mary sprang lightly from the vehicle and 
ascended the capacious stone steps. They were 
met at the door by a respectable grey-haired por- 
ter, who ushered them into a receiving room. 
Yery soon, a little sallow-faced man, bearing a 
strong resemblance to a withered orange, made 
his appearance, and casting a glance upon Mary, 
from his little twinkling black eyes, that made 
the blood mount to her cheeks, made an apology 
for withdrawing her husband for a few minutes, 
'on business,' to an adjoining room. 

" As they left, a respectable middle-aged woman 
entered, and invited Mary to take off her hat. 
She declined, saying 'she was to leave with her 
husband in a few minutes.' 

11 The old woman then jingled a small bell, and 
another matron entered. 



296 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

fA ' Better not use force,' said she, in a whisper. 
1 Poor thing ! So pretty, too. She don't look as 
though she'd wear a 'strait jacket.' 

" The truth flashed upon Mary at once I She 
was in a Lunatic Hospital/ Faint with terror, she 
demanded to see her husband, — assured them she 
was perfectly sane ; to all of which they smiled 
quietly, with an air that said ' we are used to such 
things here.' 

" By-and-bye, the little wizen-faced doctor came 
in, and listening to her eloquent appeal with an 
abstracted air, as one would tolerate the prattle of 
a petted child, he examined her pulse and mo- 
tioned the attendants to 'wait upon her to her 
room.' Exhausted with the tumult of feeling she 
had passed through, she followed without a show 
of resistance; but who shall describe the death- 
chill that struck to her heart as she entered it? 
There was a bed of snowy whiteness, a table, a 
chair, all scrupulously neat and clean, but the 
breath of the sweet-scented blossoms came in 
through a grated window I 

" Some refreshment was brought her, of which 
she refused to partake. She could not even weep ; 
her eyes seemed turned to stone. She could hear 
the maniac laughter of her fellow-prisoners — -she 
could see some of the most harmless marching in 



FANNY FERN. 29'* 

gloomy file through, the grounds, with their watch- 
ful body-guard. 

11 Poor Mary ! She felt a stifled, choking sensa- 
tion in her throat, as if the air she breathed were 
poison ; and, with her nervous, excitable tempera- 
ment, God knows the chance she stood to become 
what they really thought her ! To all her eager 
inquiries she received only evasive answers ; or 
else the subject was skilfully and summarily dis- 
missed to make place for one in which she had no 
interest. 

"Little Dr. Van Brunt daily examined her pujse 
and 'hoped she was improving — ,' or, if sne wasn t, 
it was his interest to issue a bulletin to that effect, 
and all 'company' was vetoed as 'exciting and 
injurious to the patient.' And so day after day, 
night after night, dragged its slow length along, 
and Percy, with the meanness of a revengeful spi- 
rit, waa ' biding his time,' till the punishment 
should be sufficiently salutary to warrant his recall- 
ing her home. But while he was quietly waiting 
the accomplishment of his purpose, the friend of 
the weary came to her relief. 

"'Leave me, please, will you?' said Mary to 
the nurse, as she turned her cheek to the pillow 
like a tired child. ' I want to be alone,' 

" The old woman took her sewing and seated 
13* 



298 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC 

herself just outside the door, thinking she might 
wish to sleep. In a few moments she peeped cau- 
tiously through the open door. Mrs. Percy still 
lay there, in the same position, with her cheek 
nestling in the palm of her little hand. 

" ' She sleeps sweetly,' she muttered to herself 
as she resumed her work. 

"Yes, dame Ursula, but it is the 'sleep' from 
which only the trump of the archangel shall wake 
her I 

" Mary's secret died with her, and the remorse 
that is busy at the heart of Percy, is known only 
to his Maker," 



LXXV 

"don't disturb him!" 

M { If your husband looks grave, let him alone j don't disturb 
or annoy him.' 

AH, pshaw! when I'm married, the soberer my 
husband looked, the more fun I'd rattle about 
his ears. ' Don't disturb him / ' I guess so ! I'd 
salt his coffee — and pepper his tea — and sugar his 
beef-steak — and tread on his toes — and hide his 
newspaper — and sew up his pockets — and put 
pins in his slippers — and dip his cigars in water — 
and I wouldn't stop for the Great Mogul, till I had 
shortened his long face to my liking. Certainly 
he'd ' get vexed,' there wouldn't be any fun in 
teasing him if he didn't, and that would give his 
melancholy blood a good healthful start, and his 
eyes would snap and sparkle, and he'd say, 
1 Fanny, will you be quiet or not ? ' and I should 



300 LIFE AND BEAUT.IES, ETC 



laugh, and pull his whiskers, and say, decidedly, 
1 Not!' and then I should tell him he hadn't the 
slightest idea how handsome he looked when he 
was vexed, and then he would pretend not to 
hear the compliment — but would pull up his 
dickey, and take a sly peep in the glass (for all 
that !) and then he'd begin to grow amiable, and 
get off his stilts, and be just as agreeable all the 
rest of the evening as if he wasn't my husband, and 
all because I didn't follow that stupid bit of advice 
1 to let him alone.' Just imagine me, Fanny, 
sitting down on a cricket in the corner, with my 
forefinger in my mouth, looking out the sides of 
my eyes, and waiting till that man got ready to 
speak to me ! You can see at once it would be — 
be Well, the amount of it is, I shouWnt do it ! 



LXXVI. 

A MODEL HUSBAND. 

" ( A Model Husband. — Mrs. Perry, a young Bloomer, has 
eloped from Monson, Mass., with Levins C lough. When her 
husband found she was determined to go, he gave her $100 
to start with.' 

THAT'S what I call doing things handsomely! I 
should have taken that 100 dollar bill and 
handed it to Mr. Levins Clough, as a healing 
plaster for his disappointed expectations, and gone 
home, hugging my old man, and resolving to mend 
every rip in his coat, gloves, vest, pants, and 
stockings, 'free gratis,' from that repentant hour, 
till the millennial day. I'd hand him his cigar- 
case and slippers, put away his cane, hang up his 
coat and hat, trim his beard and whiskers, give 
him the strongest cup of tea, and the brownest 
slice of toast, and all ' the dark meat ' of the 



302 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC 



turkey. I'd wink at his sherry cobblers, and 
whiskey punches, and mint juleps. I'd help him 
get a ' ten strike ' at ninepins. I'd give him a 
' night-key, ' and be perfectly oblivious what time 
in the small hours he tumbled into the front entry. 
I'd pet all his stupid relatives, and help his 
country friends to 'beat down' the city shop- 
keepers' prices. I'd frown at all offers of 'pin 
money.' I'd let him sit and * smoke ' in my face 
till I was as brown as a herring, and my eyes 
looked as if they were bound with pink tape; 
and I'd invite that widow Delilah Wilkins to 
dinner, and run out to do some shopping, and stay 
away till tea-time. Why ! there's nothing I 
wouldn't do for him — he might have knocked 
me down with a feather, after such a piece of magna- 
nimity. That 'Levins dough' could stand no 
more chance than a woodpecker tapping at an 
iceberg." 



LXXVII. 

WHAT TO DO WHEN YOU ARE ANGRY. 
" ( When you are angry take three breaths before you speak.' 

[" COULDN'T do it, said Mrs. Penlimmon. Long 
before that time I should be as placid as an 
oyster. ' Three breaths ! ' I could double Cape 
Horn in that time. I'm telegraphic wire ; if I had 
to stop to reflect, I should never be saucy. I can't 
hold anger any more than an April sky can retain 
showers ; the first thing I know, the sun is shining. 
You may laugh, but that's better than one of your 
foggy dispositions, drizzling drops of discomfort a 
month on a stretch ; no computing whether you'll 
have anything but gray clouds overhead the rest 
of your life. No ; a good heavy clap of thunder 
for me — a lightning flash ; then a bright blue sky 
and a clear atmosphere, and I am ready for the 
first flower that springs up in my path. 



304 LIFE AND 

"'Three breaths!' how absurd! as if people, 
when they get excited, ever have any breath, or if 
they have are conscious of it. I should like to see 
the Solomon who got off that sage maxim. I 
should like better still, to give him an opportunity 
to test his own theory ! It's very refreshing to see 
how good people can be, when they have no 
temptation to sin; how they can sit down and 
make a code of laws for the world in general and 
sinners in particular. 

" c Three breaths ! ' I wouldn't give a three-cent 
piece for anybody who is that long about anything. 
The days of stage coaches have gone by. If you 
ever noticed it, nobody passes muster now but 
comets, locomotives, and telegraph wires. Our 
forefathers and foremothers would have to hold 
the hair on their heads if they should wake up in 
1855. They'd be as crazy as a cat in a shower 
bath, at all our whizzing and rushing. Nice old 
snails ! it's a question with me whether I should 
have crept on at their pace if I had been a cotem- 
porary. Christopher Columbus would have dis- 
covered the New World much quicker than he 
did had I been at his elbow." 



LXXVIII. 

THE EARLY BLIGHT. — BY FANNY PER. 

u ' As Love's wild prayer, dissolved in air, 
Her woman's heart gave way, — 
But the sin forgiven, by Christ in Heaven — 
By man is curs't alway.' 

AH, do not speak so harshly of her, Aunt Nancy I 
If you could see how sorrowfully she looks 
upon that beautiful boy — how she starts at the 
sound of a strange voice — how hopelessly she sits 
with her large eyes fixed upon the ground, hour 
after hour, — so young and so beautiful, too ! ' 

" ' Yes, yes,' broke in Aunt Nancy ; ' I dare say \ 
they're always beautiful. I tell you there's no 
mercy for her in this world, or f other, as I knows 
on,' and the indignant spinster drew up her long 
crane neck. ' Why didn't she behave as she 
oughter t Did you ever hear a word said against 
me t Beauty is nothing ; behavior is everything.' 
20 



306 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

" l But Aunt Nancy ' 

"'Don't 'but' me; I tell you 
anything to do with her — such a thing as she is I ' 

"What crushing words to fall upon a broken 
heart! for Leila's quick ear had caught them. 
Her features grew rigid and pallid, and little Ku- 
dolph, frightened at their expression, climbed 
timidly to her lap. 

" Leila's heart was full of bitterness — those cruel 
words yet rang in her ears ; and, for once, she 
pushed him rudely from her, — then the mother 
triumphed ; and drawing him with a caressing mo- 
tion to her breast, she sobbed — ' God pity us 1 ' 

" Those were long, weary hours, she passed in 
that solitary chamber, in vacant listlessness, with 
her head leaning upon her hand, till poor little 
Eudolph fell asleep amid his toys, from very weari- 
ness, — then she would rouse herself, tie on his little 
hat, and wander out into the green fields — on, on 
— as if trying to be rid of herself! But there was 
no healing balm in nature. Just such sunny days, 
alas! had dawned on her before, when her sky 
was pure and cloudless. She accepted mechani- 
cally the little field-flowers that Eudolph placed 
in her hand. Those eyes ! that brow ! those curl- 
ing chestnut locks ! No father's hand was there 
to bless them ! 



FANNY FERN. 307 

" Poor Leila ! Her own sex pass by on the other 
side contemptuously — and the other f (God save her I) 
She shrinks nervously from their bold glance of 
admiration, and repels scornfully any attempt at 
acquaintance. There is no bright spot in the 
future, save the hope that the false promise made 
in God's hearing to the unprotected orphan will 
yet be redeemed. 

"Little Eudolph's cheeks crimson with fever. 
Leila says to herself, ' 'tis better he should die, 
than live to blush at his mother's name,' and then 
she shudders, — for where on the desolate earth 
will she find so loving a heart as his is now ? 

u The young physician knows her history. Leila 
answers his questions with a cold dignity ; but he 
is generous and noble-hearted, and would scorn 
to remind her by word or glance of her sad secret. 
Fresh flowers lay between Rudolph's thin fingers, 
and delicacies unattainable by Leila, are daily offer- 
ings. Rudolph will need them no longer ! Leila 
sheds no tear, as the look that comes but once, 
passes over that waxen face ! But she trembles, 
and shudders, as if the last gleam of hope was 
shut out by the closing of that coffin-lid. Even 
4 Aunt Nancy ' condescends to pity her, (at a dis- 
tance ! ) 

" Oh, shame ! that woman's heart should be so 



i 



308 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 

relentlessly unforgiving to her erring sister ! Who 
shall say, in the absence of a mother's angel watch, 
and with a warmer heart than the one that now sits 
in cold judgment upon her, Leila's sin might have 
been yours f Oh, 

i Love her still ! 
Let no harsh, cold word, 
Man ! from lips of thine be heard ! 
Woman ! with no lifted eye 
. Mock thou her deep misery ; 
Weep ye — tears, tears alone 
For our world-forsaken one, — 
Love her still ! ' 

" Lelia sits alone — pale and passive. The young 
physician approaches her respectfully. Leila looks 
at him with amazed wonder, as he would raise her 
to the dignity of a l wife. 1 Tears of happy pride 
fall from her eyes, at his generous avowal ; and so 
she thanks him with a full heart, but says, sadly, 
1 her heart is ivith Rudolph's father 1 ' and Leila is 
left again to her own sad thoughts. She wanders 
listlessly about the house — she takes up a newspa- 
per, (scarcely heeding what she reads ;) she glances 
at the list of ' deaths,' — it is there ! — his name / 
and it signs the death warrant of his last victim ! 
Leila falls heavily to the floor. Her heart is as still 
as his own I Betrayer and betrayed shall meet 
again ; and God shall be the Judge I " 



LXXIX. 

there's boom enough for all. 

" ' What need of all this fuss and strife, 

Each warring with his brother ? 
Why should we in the crowd of life, 

Keep trampling down each other ? 
Is there no goal that can be won, 

Without a fight to gain it ? 
No other way of getting on, 

But grappling to obtain it ? ' 

"VTO, my gracious ! no I We have to fight like 
ten thousand ; contest every inch of ground ; 
and if you get one step forward of your neighbor, 
envy and malice will be on your skirts in a twink- 
ling ; trying to hoist themselves up, or pull you 
down — they are not particular which. For every 
laurel you earn, you will gain the everlasting hate 
of every distanced competitor ; not that they won't 



S10 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

smile and congratulate you ; but Judas left a few 
descendants, when he 'went to his own place/ 

" ' Room enough for all? ' not by a hemisphere ! 
For every crumb Dame Fortune tosses out of her 
lap, there's a regular pitched battle and no place 
to fight in. Well, if your blood leaps through 
your veins as it ought, instead of putting your 
thumbs in your mouth and whining about it, you'll 
just set your teeth together, make a plunge for 
your share of the spoils, and hold on to it after you 
get it, too ! My gracious, yes. Peace, ana love, 
and harmony are very pretty things, no doubt, but 
you don't see 'em often in this latitude and lon- 
gitude. 

"Well, there's no help for it. You just go 
pussy-cat-ting through creation once, with velvet 
claws, and see what lean ribs you'll have to show 
for it ! At the mercy of every little pinafore ruf- 
fian that knows English enough to cry ' scat I ' 

"If you earn anything beside c&t-nips, I hope 
you'll come and tell me ! No — I'm persuaded it's 
no use to talk through your nose, and look sancti- 
fied ; male and female Moses-es always get imposed 
upon. Besides, you heathen, if you look in Gen- 
esis, you'll find yourself a fore-ordained victim — 
no dodging the curse. 'By the sweat of your 
brow,' you must earn your bread and butter. The 



F ANN Y FERN. 811 

old serpent who fetched it on us, knows we are all 
fulfilling our destiny ! Eve wasn't smart about 
that apple business. I know forty ways i" couid 
have fixed him — without burning my fingers, 
either. It makes me quite frantic to think 1 lost 
such a prime chance to circumvent the old sinner I" 



LXXX. 

THE CROSS AND THE CROWN. 

A RE there no martyrs of whom the world never 
hears? Are there no victories save on ike 
battle-field ? Are there no triumphs save where 
one can grasp earth's laurel crown ? See you none 
who rise early and sit up late, and turn with a 
calm, proud scorn from a gilded fetter to honest toil f 
Pass you never in your daily walks, slight forms 
witb calm brows, and mild eyes, whose whole life 
has been one prolonged self-struggle ? Lip, cheek 
and brow tell you no tale of the spirit's unrest. 

a The ' broad road ' is passing fair to look upon. 
The coiled serpent is not visible amid its luxurious 
foli ge. The soft breeze fans the cheek wooingly ; 
lad >n with the music of happy, careless idlers. 
Youth, and bloom, and beauty; ay! even silver 
hairs are there I. No tempest lowers; the sky is 



FANNY FERN. 313 

clear and blue. What stays yonder slender foot ? 
Why pursue so courageously the thorny, rugged, 
stumbling path ? The eye is bright ; the limbs are 
round and graceful; the blood flows warm and 
free ; the shining hair folds softly away from a 
pure, fair brow ; there are sweet voices yonder to 
welcome ! there is an inward voice to hush I there 
are thrilling eyes there, to bewilder! What statf 
that slender foot? 

" Ah ! The foot-prints of Calvary's SUFFERER 
are in that l narrow jpathP That youthful head 
bends low and unshrinkingly to meet its ' crown 
of thorns.' The ' Star in the East ' shines far above 
those rugged heights, on which its follower reads : 
— ' To him that overcometh, will I give to eat of 
the Tree of Life ! » 

" Dear reader, for a brief day, the Cross ; for 
uncounted ages, the Crown ! " 
14 



LXXXI. 

TOM FAY'S SOLILOQUT. 

" c Most any female lodger up a stair, 
Occasions thought in him who lodges under.' 

TvON'T they, though ? Not a deuced thing have 
^ I been able to do since that little gipsy took 
the room overhead, about a week ago ! Pat — pat 
— pat, go those little feet over the floor, till I am 
as nervous as a cat in a china closet, (and confound- 
ed pretty they are, too, for I caught sight of 'em 
going up stairs.) Then I can hear her little 
rocking-chair crea7c, as she sits there sewing, and 
she keeps singing, ' Love not — love not,' (just as if 
a fellow could help it.) Wish she wasn't quite so 
pretty ; it makes me decidedly uncomfortable. 
Wonder if she has any great six-footer of a 
brother, or cousin with a sledge-hammer fist? 
Wish I was her washerwoman, or the little nigger 



FANNY FERN. 315 

who brings her breakfast ; wish she'd faint away 
on the stairs ; wish the house would catch fire to- 
night ! Here I am, in this great barn of a room 
(all alone ;)■ chairs and things set up square against 
the wall ; no little feminine fixins round; I shall 
have to buy a second-hand bonnet, or a pair of little 
gaiter-boots, to cheat myself into the delusion 
that there's two of us / Wish that little gipsy 
wasn't as shy as a rabbit ? I can't meet her on 
the stairs if I die for it ; I've upset my inkstand 
a dozen times, hopping up, when I thought I heard 
her coming. Wonder if she knows (when she sits 
vegetating there,) that Shakspeare, or Sam Slick, 
or somebody says, that ' happiness is born a twin ? ' 
'cause if she don't, I'm the missionary that will en 
lighten her? Wonder if she earns her living, 
(poor little soul !) It's time I had a wife, by Chris- 
topher ! (Sitting there, pricking her pretty little 
fingers with that murderous needle !) If she was 
sewing on my dickeys, it would be worth while 
now. That's it — by JoVe! Fll get her to make 
me some dickeys — don't want 'em any more than 
Satan wants holy water, but that's neither here nor 
there. I shall insist upon her taking the measure 
of my throat (bachelors have a right to be fussy.) 
There's a pretty kettle of fish, now ; either she'll 
have to stand on a cricket, or I shall have to get on 



S16 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

my knees to her I Solomon himself couldn't fix 
any thing better ; deuce take me, if I couldn't say 
the right thing then! This fitting dickeys is a 
work of time, too. Dickeys isn't to be got up in a 
hurry. 

" Halloo ! there's the door-bell ! there's a great 
big trunk damped down in the entry ! ' Is Mrs. 
Legare at home ? ' M-r-s. Legare ? ! I like 
that, now ! Have I been in love a whole week 
with M-R-s. Legare ? Never mind, may be she's a 
widow/ Tramp, tramp, come those masculine 
feet up stairs — (handsome fellow, too !) N-e-b-u- 
c-h-a-d n-ezzar ! If I ever heard a kiss in my life, 
I heard one then! I won't stand it! — it's an 
invasion of my rights. I'll listen at the door, as I 
am a sinner ! c My dear husband ! ! ! ' — p-h-e-w ! 
What right have sea-captains on shore, I'd like to 
know? Confound it all! Well, I always knew 
women weren't worth thinking of; a set of de- 
ceitful little monkeys ; changeable as a rainbow, 
superficial as parrots, as full of tricks as a conjuror, 
stubborn as mules, vain as peacocks, noisy as 
magpies, and full of the ' old Harry ' all the time ! 
There's 'Delilah,' now; didn't she take the 
' strength' out of Sampson ? — and weren't l Sisera' 
and 'Judith' born fiends f And didn't the little 
minx of an Herodias dance John the Baptist's head 



FANNY FEEN. 317 

off? Didn't Sarah 'raise Cain 1 with Abraham, 

till he packed Hagar off? Then there was 

(well, the least said about her, the better !) but 
didn't Eve, the foremother of the whole concern, 
have one talk too many with the old ( serpent f ' Of 
course ; (she didn't do nothing else I /) Glad I 
never set my young affections on any of 'em ! 
Where's my cigar-case I How tormented hot this 
room is l" 



LXXXII. 

A CHAPTER ON CLERGYMEN. 

AH, walk in, Mr. Jones, walk in; a minister's 
■ time isn't of much account. He ought to ex- 
pect to be always ready to see his parishioners. 
What's the use of having a minister, if you can't 
use him? Never mind scattering his thoughts to 
the four winds, just as he gets them glowingly 
concentrated on some sublime subject ; that's a 
trifle. He's been through college, hasn't he? 
Then he ought to know a thing or two ; and be 
able to take up the thread of his argument where 
he laid it down ; else where's the almighty differ 
ence between him and a layman ? If he can't 
make a practical use of his Greek and Latin and 
Theology, he had better strip off his black coat, 
unshahe his * right hand of fellowship,' and throw 
up his commission. Take a seat, Mr. Jones ; talk 



FANNY FERN. 819 

to him about your crops ; make him plough over 
a dozen imaginary fields with you ; he ought to be 
able to make a quick transit from 'predestination' 
to potatoes. Why, just think of the man's salary 
— and you helping to pay it! Nebuchadnezzar! 
haven't you hired him, soul and body ? He don't 
belong to himself at all, except when he's asleep. 
Mind and give him a little wholesome advice before 
you leave; inquire how many pounds of tea he 
uses per week, and ask him how he came to be so 
unclerical as to take a ride on horseback the other 
day ; and how much the hostler charged him for 
the animal, and whether he went on a gallop, or a 
canter, or an orthodox trot? Let him know, 
very decidedly, that ministers are not expected to 
have nerves, or head-aches, or side-aches, or heart 
aches. If they get weary writing (which they've 
no business to,) let them go down cellar and chop 
some wood. As to relaxation suggestive of beau- 
tiful thoughts, which a gallop on a fleet horse 
through the country might furnish, where the 
aweet air fans the aching temples caressingly, 
where fields of golden grain wave in the glad 
sunlight, where the blended beauty of sky and 
sea, and rock and river, and hill and valley, 
send a thrill of pleasure through every inlet of the 
soul — pshaw! that's all transcendental nonsense, 



820 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC 



fit only for green boarding-school girls and silly 
scribbling women, — a minister ought to be above 
such things, and have a heart as tough as the doc- 
trine of election. He ought to be a regular theo- 
logical sledge-hammer, always sharpened up, and 
ready to do execution without any unnecessary 
glitter. That's it ! 

" Fact is, Mr. Jones, (between you and I and the 
vestry door,) it is lucky there are some philan- 
thropic laymen like yourself who are willing to 
look after these ministers. It's the more generous 
in you because we are all aware it's a thing you 
don't take the slightest pleasure in doing (?) You 
may not get your reward for it in this world, 
but if you don't in the next, I shall make up my 
mind, that Lucifer is remiss in his duty." 



LXXXIII. 

FANNY FERN ON HUSBANDS. 

" ' Husbands should by all means assist their wives in mak- 
ing home happy, and strive to preserve the hearts they have 
won. When you return from your daily avocations, meet 
your beloved with a smile of joy and satisfaction — take her 
by the hand — imprint an affectionate kiss upon her lips.' 

TSN'T that antimonial t Don't you do any such 
thing ! If you've made a married woman of 
her, I'd like to know if that isn't an honor that she 
might spend a life-time trying to repay you for ; 
and come out at the little end of the horn at that? 
" Land of love ! there's many a woman dies of 
'hope deferred.' Put that in her ear. Ask her 
what in mercy she thinks would have become of 
her, if you hadn't taken pity on her. Make her 
sensible of her beatified condition. Just tell her- 
that any ' little favor ' you do for her now, is an 
21 



322 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

extra touch of philanthropy ; that you may possi- 
bly go whole days without noticing her at all — ■ 
except to stow away the food she prepares for 
you ; — that, as to thanking her for every button 
she sews on, Caesar ! the boot is on the other foot ! 
and should she lose her beauty or get sickly, of 
course she can't expect you'll care as much for her 
as when she was bran-new — the idea is absurd. 
She has no business to grow ugly ; and as to sick- 
ness, it would be stepping off your pedestal to be 
puttering round, inquiring whether your wife's 
gruel was furnished at the right time or not ; you've 
got other things to do, of more importance ; such 
as betting on elections, peeping into concerts and 
theatres, and so forth. 

11 1 He might take me, too.' You nonsensical 
little nuisance ! In the first place — he — he — he — 
well, the upshot of it is, he don't want you! it 
would spoil all his fun. So just sit down in your 
rocking-chair and contemplate your stocking-bas- 
ket ; and if your spirits droop for change of scene, 
for a kind word, or a loving glance — that's noth 
ing ! You can die any time you get ready ; he 
will stop mourning for you long before the weed 
on his hat gets rusty. Besides, the world is full 
of women — a real crowd of 'em ; he knows that 



FANNY FERN. 323 

well enough ; dare say he'd be obliged to you to 
pop off. ' Variety is the spice of life.' 

" So there's the map before you, my dear. 
That's all there is of Life. If you've got married, 
you've climbed to the top of the hill — so now you 
can do as the rest of the wives do — stand still and 
crow a little while; and then commence your 
descent. No new discoveries to be made that 1 
know of Cry, if you feel like it — pocket handker- 
chiefs are only ninepence a-piece now." 



LXXXIV 

FANNY S IDEAS ABOUT MONEY 
MATTERS. 

" f The Military Argus has a long and prosy article 
headed ' How to make Home Happy.' A friend of ours has 
now a work in preparation, which solves the question — ' It is 
to give your wife as much money as she asks for.' This 
entirely abolishes the necessity of kisses and soft sawder.' 

True Flag, Aug. 28. 

T)ETTY ! throw up the windows, loosen my belt, 
and bring me my vinaigrette ! 
"It's no use to faint, or go into hysterics, because 
there's nobody here just now that understands my 

case ! but I'd have you to understand, sir (fan 

me, Betty !) that o-o-h ! that (Julius 

Caesar, what a Hottentot !) that if you have a wife 
as is a wife, neither ' kisses,' l soft sawder,' or 
' money,' can ever repay her for what she is to 
you! 



FANNY FERN. 325 

11 Listen to me ! Do you remember when you 
were sick ? Who tip-toe-d round your room, ar- 
ranging the shutters and curtain-folds with an 
instinctive knowledge of light, to a ray, that your 
tortured head could bear ? Who turned your 
pillow on the cqoI side, and parted the thick, 
matted locks from your hot temples ? Who moved 
glasses and spoons and phials without collision or 
jingle ? Who looked at you with a compassionate 
smile, when you persisted you ' wouldn't take your 
medicine because it tasted so bad;' and kept a 
sober face, when you lay chafing there like a 
caged lion, calling for cigars and newspapers, and 
mint-juleps, and whiskey punches ? Who migra- 
ted, unceasingly and uncomplainingly, from the 
big baby before her to the little baby in the cradle, 
without sleep, food, or rest ? Who tempted your 
convalescent appetite with some rare dainty of her 
own making, and got fretted at because there was 
1 not sugar enough in it ? ' Who was omnipresent 
in chamber, kitchen, parlor and nursery, keeping 
the domestic wheels in motion that there should 
be no jar in the machinery ? Who oiled the 
creaking door, that set your quivering nerves in a 
twitter? Who ordered tan to be strewn before 
the house, that your slumbers might be unbroken 
by noisy carriage wheels ? Who never spoke of 



326 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 



weary feet or shooting pains in the side, or chest, 
as she toiled up and down stairs to satisfy imagi- 
nary wants, that ' nobody but wife ' could attend 
to? and who, when you got well and moved about 
the house just as good as new, choked down the 
tears, as you poised the half dollar she asked you 
for, on your forefinger, while you inquired 'how 
she spent the last one ? ' 

-' ' Give her what money she ASKS for ! ' Julius 
Caesar ! (Betty ! come here and carry away my 
miserable remains !) Nobody but sl polar bear or a 
Hottentot would wait to have a wife ' ask 7 for 
'money !'" 



LXXXV. 

A LETTER TO A SELF-EXILED FRIENIV 
IN THE COUNTRY. 

"HEAR NOR AH:— 'Tell you the news! ' Ah, 
I knew you'd come to it ! I was sure you'd tire 
of your oyster life, up there in the mountains. 
Pleasant, isn't it — after dandelions and buttercups 
have ceased to be a novelty — after you know who 
lives in the little brown house opposite, and who 
in the hut at the end of the lane? After you have 
read through that ■ Alpha and Omega ' of a coun- 
try library — the Almanac / After you've watched 
your landlady wash dishes, and feed pigs, and 
make butter, till you are qualified to take a diplo- 
ma in those branches yourself! After you've 
seen the old rooster fight his hen-harem till they 
are subjugated to his lordly mind! After you've 
listened to the drowsy hum of insect life, till you 



328 LIFE AND BEAUTIES OF 

are half a vegetable yourself! After you have seen 
the old ricketty front door fastened Tip, when the 
hens go to roost, and every soul in the house in 
the ' land of Nod,' and you sitting at your win- 
dow, expiring for a new sensation, though it come 
in the shape of a lightning stroke, or a tornado ! 
listening compulsorily to the doleful doxology of 
the cricket, and the base voluntary of the bullfrog, 
and lamenting that brick and mortar are unfashion- 
able in dog-days ! True, 'tis a pity — pity 'tis true 
— that the mind rusts, while the body flourishes , in 
the country. 

"Not less to be avoided, is that mockery of com- 
fort, a gay watering-place ; where neither mind 
nor body can remain en dishabille for one blessed 
hour. Where slander, and gossip, and humbug, 
reign triumphant ; where caps and characters are 
pulled to pieces by the feminines, and the chart of 
conquest is marked out (without a shoal or quick- 
sand,) by the gentlemen. Where half a year's sal- 
ary is spent in a week by the ambitious dandy, 
(in embryo,) who gets laughed at for his pains and 
pretensions, and returns with damaged pockets and 
wardrobe to his attic room, to be dunned remorse 
lessly by tailor and laundress for many a pitiless- 
day. Where the simpering demoiselle who hap 
cried ' give, give,' to papa's pocket-book, till it is 



FANNY FERN. 329 

as dry as ' Gideon's fleece,' catches in the net of 
her one hundred dollar shawl and ruinous silk, 
some brainless fop, who finds, too late, that 'papers 
stocks ' are — nowhere I 

"No ! no ! Commend me to home, with all its 
little familiar comforts. Small they may be, but 
indispensable. Your nice little rocking-chair, where 
you have had so many pleasant reveries — that 
porte feuille,' and the memory of the friend who 
gave it you, and the thousand little mementos that 
meet your eye, all suggestive of happiness. 

" Commend me to a city home ! where my mind 
can be kept fresh and bright with interchange of 
thought with gifted minds, and my heart warm 
with loving words and beaming smiles ; where 1 
can put my hand upon newspapers and new pub- 
lications, before they are spoiled for my reading, 
by criticisms, and reviews, and parrot repetitions ! 

"And as for 'trees and fresh air!' a drive with 
a friend through the many oeautiful outlets from 
our busy city ; or a walk on our lovely Common, 
of a balmy evening, where the fragrance of new- 
mown hay comes wafted from the hills across the 
river, and the stars are mirrored in the clear depths 
of the mimic pond, and the soft wind plaj^s refresh- 
ingly over your heated temples — then — a so/?, lull- 



330 LIFE AND BEAUTIES, ETC. 

ing serenade 'in. the small hours,' and 'rosy dreams 
till daylight 1 ' 

" ' Tell you the news,' hey ? Well, the great. 
Daniel 1 s thoughts, at present, are upon fish-line 
and 'hook — particularly the last English hook ! The 
1 Maine liquor law ' is the warn question, and who'll 
•pay the ScotA? is another! Bread and balloons 
have 'riz ; ' gloves is 'tight ; ' flowers c looking up ; ' 
dickies is l depressed ; ' ' stocks ' is ' scarce ; ' belief 
none [in the market: ' beaux — ' improving ; ? guar- 
dians ' quiet ; ' and I am, 

" Yours, till you get married/ 

"Fanny Fern," 



THE END 



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